Lucian: By Night, By Blood
by vOceanic
Summary: [Lemons] He never thought he'd be homeless. Drifting again...The Institute of War left many lonely Champions without a home. There's a new sense of purpose waiting out there, in the shadows.
1. Addiction

_N.B. Happy New Year, guys. I warned you I'd be dicking around._

_Why this? Well, I'm done with my first novel and into the editing phase. Been reading nothing but that for 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. I'm losing my shit. _

_**Disclaimer**: This is an actual story (I think). Gonna have **a lot of sex in it**. And death. You know. _

_Come to think of it - we ever figure out who Graves' reflection was in ATC? Hm. _

_Happy Reading. _

* * *

><p>He'd been through a lot of hard withdrawals.<p>

There was the first one, from her memory. From the way her breasts caught the soft springtide light of Demacia. The rose color of her nipples, blooming against dark satin skin.

Then there was the bitter alcohol. _Don't poison yourself, _she always said. He tried his hardest. It tasted like burnt out dreams, the inside of Piltover streetlamps.

And finally, his sadness. He'd grown into it. The cold blue feeling was like a favorite blanket. A well-worn photograph. The scent of her hair fading from his pillow.

But eventually he realized that that, too, would be gone, would pass. And so he withdrew.

* * *

><p>And no matter how many withdrawals he went through, they all sucked. Bad.<p>

He threw his last pair of old boxers into his battered suitcase, then sighed. He could hear Jinx complaining loudly in the lobby of the Marksmen Quarters.

"— _drag my ass clear in from Piltover, come here, settle down, and now you want me to leave?_"

"Jinx," he heard. Vi. She sounded tired. "You don't have an ass."

Jinx pouted. "I'm staying. Sharky doesn't want to leave."

"You're not. Come on."

Lucian shook his head. _No one's staying. At all. _He slung his luggage over his shoulder, took one last look around the clean small room, and left.

* * *

><p>The worst part, he thought, was that Noxus didn't even bother to show up.<p>

The closing ceremony four days ago was a grand affair. Food was always a plus. Balloons, fireworks.

Even if he stood in a corner nursing one glass of soda water, it was a fine time.

Everyone _ooooh_ed and _ahhhh_ed when the big white carriages came rolling in the gates, pulled by proud white stallions.

Shyvana and Jarvan IV sat on top of one. They looked stoic. Their blue-gold warrior armor glittered.

Married, apparently. Good for them.

Then, as the party wound down, the crowd got nervous. Waiting for a herd of big black mares. Flashing eyes, long teeth, loud laughter.

But it was just ex-Venerable Summoner Zandred at the fore of Central Fountain. He looked ancient in his faded hula-printed t-shirt. He cleared his throat.

"It seems our best friends won't be joining us."

"Gee. Boo-hoo," Jinx muttered, adjusting her tiny tits. Lucian glanced at her and snickered.

"But I do have a letter. Several letters, actually." Zandred cleared his throat again. "But I'll read about two."

"Get on with it," he heard someone call. There was laughter.

Zandred hesitated. "'Dear League of Legends. Though the closing of the Institute may seem regrettable to some, we feel it comes at a great place in Runeterran history. For the first time in eons, Demacia and Noxus are truly at peace and, while this does not include all portions of Valoran, it includes the two most important.'"

Lucian glanced at Karma and Yi. Yi's jaw gritted. _Ouch._

"'Hopefully you all will be able to sleep at night knowing that the known and unknown worlds are the safest they've ever been. The Wheel Turns. King Ryland II of Noxus.'"

There was a low, disgruntled mutter.

Zandred snorted. "If you think that one was bad —"

"Come _on_!" the same person shouted. This was echoed by the others. Lucian shrugged.

Jinx was edging closer to him. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, but — no. That was real sadness on her crazy face. It cut unexpectedly deep.

Zandred huffed. "'Dear Institute. I didn't realize how dependent you were on one country when the whole point was interconnectivity. It's strange that you close your doors, but ultimately inconsequential. The Wheel Turns. Ezreal Lightbringer, of Noxus.'"

Lucian's stomach did a slow, greasy cartwheel. A lower whisper.

Zandred looked out into the crowd, grimacing. "Shall I contin —"

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP AND READ!_" someone roared. Agreement.

Jinx snorted.

"'Dear Institute. I miss you all and pray that you find your peace with the stars. The world is a very curious place. You have my blessing. Soraka. Of Noxus.'"

"Holy shit," he heard Vayne murmur. She was nearby, too, in a red dress. On her arm was Yasuo, another newish recruit. Getting kicked out almost immediately.

"This one comes from Luxanna Lightbringer. Of Noxus," Zandred said. The crowd whirled to watch Jarvan IV's face. It didn't move. "'Dear Friends, I miss you all. My time at the Institute was a strange one, but ultimately improved my life for the better…'"

"There's no way she wrote that," Ahri said with a laugh. Everyone around her agreed. It didn't even sound like Lux.

The Purifier could only stand to listen to three more. Katarina's disparaging one. Some other girl's that left Zandred clearing his throat and wiping his eyes. Then Jericho Swain, essentially abdicating the throne. When he heard _Malcolm Graves of Noxus_, he shook his head and left. Departed for the night.

The Institute already looked dead. Windows were shuttered, doors locked. Empty. The wind blew.

Soon it'd be another fading memory. Here in his life, then gone.

A white hand tugged on his dark one. "Where you going? You missed the best part."

Jinx. Her pink sparkly dress was somehow too tight, her grin too wide. Still, the cloud-blue curtain of silky blue hair was — pretty.

Yeah. That was the word. Nothing had been beautiful for a while now.

"What was the best part?"

Jinx laughed. "Jayce of Noxus. We knew he was crazy."

_Jinx thinking someone's crazy. _Lucian breathed out a long, slow sigh. "Man. What the _fuck _happened up there." He and Jinx hadn't been invited on the little unofficial task force to Freljord. Apparently for the better.

_Lucian of Noxus. Nice joke._

He didn't resist when Jinx led him back to her room in the Quarters. She took it slow for once, peeled his dress pants off with nimble fingers, placed her fingertips on the sensitive upper rim of his dick.

He kissed her because she wanted to be kissed. It felt nice.

Nice. That was the word.

"Demacian," she murmured. "I always forget."

Then she knelt on the floor of her bedroom and flicked his cock with her tongue. He sighed as it stirred. He tried to ignore the framed picture of _Jayce, the Defender of Tomorrow_ on her nightstand. It was cut from a magazine, doodled over in pink glitter pen.

For a heartbeat, he was tempted to close his eyes and let Senna replace her. _Warm brown lips, that laughing twinkle in green-brown eyes_.

But no. He forced himself to look on her pale white face, the dreaming light to those strange-colored eyes. The sheaf of blue framed her face as she slid down him. Deep. Deeper.

He gasped and buried strong fingers in her hair. Her tiny tongue rode up his thick length. Warm. Inexorable, until the lower curve of her lip was nestled against his balls.

She fluttered her eyelashes, and he cupped her chin. She grabbed his knees with cold hands.

And he heard a laughing whisper that wasn't Jinx, wasn't this life. _Damn, love. You're thick. So thick._

He came and bit his lip.

It'd been a long time. It still felt like betrayal.

She stayed a little too long, then gazed up at him like a puppy afterward, until he patted her head.

That was the trouble. The first few times had been manic, pink pixie dust. But the last four or five times had been slow. Strange. No, not the kinky shit. He wasn't into that, and the first time she whipped out handcuffs he laughed in her face.

She wanted affection he couldn't give.

He was glad he was leaving.

Everything left eventually. Sometimes it needed a little help.

* * *

><p>In the present, he stood by the Gates of the Institute and watched a parade of Champions and Summoners slowly pass. The light hand on his shoulder startled him. Caitlyn.<p>

"Hey. Thanks for keeping an eye on her while we were gone up north." She glanced meaningfully at Jinx, who was sobbing loudly into Vi's side.

Lucian studied the Sheriff, her long brown hair. "Hmmm. Back to Piltover, huh? After all that?"

"If it's still standing."

"One of the few things that is, way I heard it." He studied her harder.

But all he saw was a strange little smile. "Uh huh. Take care."

He watched her move away. Come to think of it — he had no plan in mind. He had enough money saved to do whatever he wanted for about half a year. He traveled light.

_Follow where the wind blows, _he heard, and lifted his head, tired. Weary.

It'd happened before. Women who talked like her, looked like her.

He learned to stop thinking it was her. Not even an excited dip in his stomach anymore.

He wanted to see her. Even if he then had to blow her soul to ash and tatters to release it. It was his job.

But it was Quinn, standing awkwardly beside Jarvan IV and his entourage, looking away from a curious reporter. He heard her affirm that_ no, I'm definitely not Quinn of Noxus. _

Demacia was his birthplace but unappealing. From what little he'd heard they were on high alert. Noxus swore there was peace. Demacia didn't believe. Never would.

_Senna, _he sighed inside himself. He headed for the outskirts of town. _Please. This is already hard enough._

_You hear what those doctors said? Piltover Eggheads._ He could hear her, even above the crowd's murmur. See her in his mind. Topless on a beach in Ionia. A honeymoon, grinning over the rims of dark sunglasses. A fizzy green drink. _Always a little piece of any addiction left behind. You try it one more time and it — it sucks you in._

_So that's why you say I'm your addiction. _He hadn't cared for that phrase. Made it sound like love was a bad thing.

_Mhmm. Always a little piece of you. Maybe literally, some day. _They'd kissed as the sun went down. Warm, sweet, hot, fiery — those were the words. And holy_. _Sanctified.

Her fingernails clawing his chest. They were never manicured, but sturdy, solid —

_I miss your fingernails, _he thought. He looked out into the desert, from the little town's outskirts. The wind was blowing steadily east.

He shrugged and decided to follow it.


	2. The First Time

_The first time she saved his life: _

She was in huge black boots at a dusty bar on the lower end of Demacia, frowning at a Piltover 'screen on the wall. He moved her duffel bag and sat down beside her. Then he swallowed hard and said, "What kind of little lady wears big old boots like that?"

He was nervous. He didn't talk to women much. But the graduating soldiers at the Academy all had girlfriends and he didn't.

Demacia didn't issue girls the way they issued armor, boots, swords.

They could've fooled him. The blonde hair, blue eyes. It was a wonder he got into Brightbridge at all. Full ride, too. No one believed him.

This girl scoffed. "Someone who's getting the hell out of here."

"But Demacia's so grand." He made sure to say it with only a little sarcasm.

She nudged him and raised her cloudy mug towards the flickering picture. He was too startled by being touched to notice at first.

A Piltover news anchor. "_…drawing comparisons to the Pulsefire hurricane caused by Ian of Piltover some years ago. High Commander Jericho Swain insists the slaughter will not be stopped until Demacia surrenders completely, stating 'We gave them two seasons' worth of warning.' Demacia refuses_, _though General Caelyn Falin and the Red-Hawk Division advance on Demacia's citadel by the day._"

A running casualty number. _Deaths by Fire: 345,993._

He paused. Forgot about acting cool. "That's — that's real?"

"Honey. It's realer than I am half the godsdamned time." She snorted again, sipped her brew.

"Why haven't I heard about this?" He was thinking of the blank faces of the combat trainers. Careful expressions. Except for startled anger when he asked why they weren't using pistols.

"Most people don't need told." She glanced at him.

He blurted, "I graduate in a month. From Brightbridge."

He'd been waiting to drop that later. To impress her. Now he knew she wouldn't be impressed.

"You're fixing to graduate your way into death." She laughed. "I'm leaving. Fuck this shit. Am I right?" The bar patrons around her all nodded, laughing, saying _yeah, hell yeah_.

He was startled by the cursing. _Girls don't curse_. "What — I don't —"

"Quit blubbering and come with me." She finished and paid before he could offer to. He'd meant to buy her a drink.

Next he knew, he was led through a little shop. Her parents in old rocking chairs seemed unsurprised to see him. _Howdy, howdy_. She was taking his hand, pulling him up the wooden stairs. Four flights of them. Apartments.

They got to the top and looked out. A hazy foggy early springtide night.

He saw it. A curtain of fire burning, from the east. Glittering red, whirling sparks. He gaped. _How did I never notice? _

Then he knew: Brightbridge worked you until you passed out.

He couldn't look at it. He watched her thick black hair float in the wind. Like some sort of storm goddess'.

"Fuck. That. Fuck that hard," she said, then smacked his ass. "Are you coming?"

"I — "

"Or are you going to be a number? I can tell you're meant for better things. I have a bit of, you know." She tapped the back of her head.

He looked at her blankly.

"Third-eye, sweetie."

"Oh. Um." He coughed. Part of him — buried under catechisms and prayers — whispered, _just go. Who would you say goodbye to, anyway? _His parents were long dead.

He thought of the instructors' careful expressions. Their blank stares.

Then of how he listened to the radio every morning — every morning, he woke up to _Peace, Lift Your Banner _and belted it in the shower to piss his roommate off. The guy two rooms over, though — Michael Whitefield was graduating early. Like fifteen or sixteen. Michael could sing. He could really sing.

_I'm surprised they didn't put us together, as much as we get teased for how we look, _he told Lucian once, then blushed. _Sorry._

_ It's alright. I know I'm black._

Still, Lucian hadn't heard a godsdamned word until tonight. Trusting the low voiced radio to tell him it was alright, he was fine. He believed them.

Until tonight.

_They were going to let it get me, _he thought. _The angels were._ Some faraway inner howl at the sight of fire. _Let it get me, don't let it get me, oh, baby, no, sweetheart, lay down, close your eyes. Close them. Close._

He shuddered, the hot night turning chill. She waited, tapping one combat boot against the roof.

"They'd let it get me after all that work and praying," he said. He didn't mean to talk out loud.

"You bet your ass they would."

Before he knew it he was packed too. They were on their way to a little place in the north called Angel's Crossing, fucking in a motel off the road, away from the fire.

She had the roundest asscheeks he'd ever seen. Rounder than he could've ever imagined.

The way she kissed him under the weak stream of water made him forget he was a virgin. His mouth found her breasts easily. He supported the arch of her back with one strong hand, then lapped at the red stripe between her legs, cherry enclosed by dark chocolate.

She moaned like a wildcat.

Someone in the next room rapped on the wall. Senna swore for years they said _if you're gonna be that loud let me in on it. _

Her fingers tickled his jaw and he lapped harder. She tasted sweet.

Then she lathered his cock up and was squeezing, pulling, stroking. Somehow all three. He fell against the side of the shower moaning and she chuckled, "Easy, man. Godsdamn."

She was tugging the head of it, then rubbing down low. The way he jacked off to pictures of Luxanna Crownguard. It felt familiar. Relaxing.

Only there was her body instead. Different. Beautiful — no, gorgeous. Holy.

Curvy, with a tight stomach and breasts that were surprisingly heavy. And her thighs — perfection. Like a storm goddess'. He watched a bead of water trail from one black strand of hair down to her navel, then slip into the slick wet crease below there. Hot, aching. Waiting to be filled.

She knew that, he thought. Knew how he jacked off. That's what that smile meant. Then he came so hard he saw white. He bit her shoulder and she laughed.

Then they were lying beside one another. The blue sheets smelled like cheap cologne.

He thought he could still hear it coming on. The fire.

He was afraid of it. He was an honest man, and he knew that.

He found himself saying, while she went through his backpack without asking, "My parents are dead."

"Hell. Mine are, too."

"I thought they were in the shop." He half sat up, confused.

"They're not leaving." She grinned at him. He blinked. Then she was falling on him and crying a little bit and he thought, _we've got to be meant to be together, no one makes a mistake like this. _


	3. Encounters

_N.B. Don't worry. We're not gonna linger here too long.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>The Present <em>

Withdrawal. That meant withdrawal from his own senses sometimes, into a quiet white space inside his head. It was empty. Pure. The way the Demacian angels intended it.

The way Lucian intended it.

He nodded to the lost-looking travelers he passed but didn't see them. Smelled the rich red-green springtide blooming beneath his nostrils. But it didn't affect him. He was deep, deep inside. All he noticed was the wind. _Let it carry you, let it blow around your skin, across it. _

He slept in little motels like the dead were intended to.

The League — _let's be honest, _he thought on the third day, picking his way down a dirt road due east, chewing a loaf of tasteless crumbling bread. There were open fields of daisies on both sides of him, petals tossed by the breeze. _It babied us. Took a lot of us in. Most of us had no family. It gave us a sense of purpose, reminded us to eat, to wash our faces and brush our teeth. _Something they hadn't had.

He'd seen some interesting things in his brief time there. Especially among the Marksmen.

Shauna Vayne went from a rail-thin, silent statue to someone who laughed at least once a day. Jinx had — well. Jinx had become slightly less crazy. You had to know her to see any difference.

And Ezreal, of course.

_That kid's a goddamned enigma, _he remembered Malcolm Graves muttering.

Malcolm.

He and Lucian had a lot in common, and Lucian bet it wasn't an accident. Men who tried to wed women of this world, who ended up married to steel, stone and ghosts instead. An old story. A bitter one.

Still, they shouldn't have gotten along. Malcolm didn't have many friends. And once, when Lucian's bolts tore a hole in his chest on the Rift, he swore he heard Malcolm mutter _dark 'un_. He hadn't heard that insult for years.

They ended up sitting on the homey porch of the Marksmen Quarters, playing cards. Malcolm usually won. Neither of them drank any longer, but the Outlaw always had a cigar tucked between his lips.

Once, late at night, Malcolm leaned back and said, _I bet you love blowing a gaping hole in his goddamned face, don't you? _

The Warden.

Lucian had taken a long, slow sip of cider and said, _I serve the Ultimate Goodness. Not my own love of violence. _

Malcolm watched him closely. _Ultimate Goodness. Huh. I've never seen her again. Heard she's great._

He'd cried that night a few months ago, on the comfy bed the League provided. Lying on his back. _Never seen her again._ Long, slow, hot tears dripping steadily into his ears. He bet no one ever guessed.

In the present, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling in some half-assed hotel.

There was a party going on on the floor beneath him, but he couldn't go down there. He didn't do social gatherings alone.

Senna would tug on him, bribe him, coax him.

_I love you, hon. _

He flung an arm over his face, guarding his eyes from the moon, from tears. "Go away." His childish voice. Sometimes it made her mad. More often she crawled onto his chest, giggling and pawing at him.

_I miss you. I love you, hon._

"Please." His voice was a whisper. She was gone. The dead stayed dead.

_I love you, hon, I love you, I _

* * *

><p>"Real shitty, ain't it?" The gap-toothed traveler turned to him. They were waiting on a muddled mass of carts to move ahead. The sun hurt Lucian's eyes. The road was packed with animals, people of all colors and shapes.<p>

"Hmm?"

"The world," the traveler said with a nod, over the grunting and braying.

Lucian's chest knit tight together. "No. I don't think that. It's a grand place."

"Tell that to your sad face. My wife looked like that when our kid died." The traveler chuckled, then switched his donkey. The wheels turned slowly forward.

"That's some great early morning conversation. Top tier," Lucian said to no one. After around fifteen minutes, he tapped the nearest traveler. This one was an hostler. "Excuse me. Why's it so crowded?"

The old man cocked his head. "I thought everyone here was for the same reason."

"I'm —" Lucian searched for a word and found nothing. "Um."

"Going to see the King's palace? The new monument?" the man suggested.

Lucian blinked. The wind, which had blown across him constantly east, faded.

"I tried, buddy." The hostler clapped his shoulder and wedged himself forward.

_You always forget the most obvious shit sometimes, _Senna said with a chuckle. He'd bought a tie, cufflinks and shoes for their wedding. But no suit.

_How is it always and sometimes? _

_Time, _she boomed. _Time is an illusion. _

He'd looked around the deserted tailor's. It was nine o'clock, and the clothier was cranky, but had been so amused by a man forgetting to get a suit for his wedding day that he'd stayed late to hem one. But that was alright. Senna was giggling too.

In the present, a sinking feeling grew in Lucian's belly. _Follow the wind. Well, I did that. And now —_

Two large black horse statues came into view, then an enormous black stone archway, covered in statuettes of spread-winged hawks. Then tall dark walls.

Someone shouting "_Make way, make way, please_." Lucian stepped to the side to let two huge dragon-shaped carts through, stacked with gold, silver and spices. Mud splashed on his pants.

It took him a second.

Ionian gifts, sent to —

He looked at the walls. Cursed.

_You always forget the most obvious —_

He missed her, but gods. Sometimes he wanted to choke the little piece left over inside of him, make her silent. The dead stayed dead.

* * *

><p>He was able to slip through crowds when he needed to. Necessity made him able to do a lot of things, like breathe.<p>

He managed to follow the carts. Ionian gifts, sent to Noxus. Noxus, who had invaded them before and might again. There was no League to protect them. He trailed them, listening to the hoarse _make way, make way please_ until his ears ached and he wanted to choke that guy too.

Then he was standing outside large, black castle walls. More hawks, more dragons. The black towers jabbed the sky so harshly Lucian wanted to say, _Easy, man, damn. _

He frowned. "Boy. I'm just asking to get killed, aren't I."

_Well, I do miss you, _Senna breathed.

He frowned harder. No response to that one. _No reason not to kill myself, I'm not even defending the peace anymore, I deserted the Legion first and now I'm not a Champion._

He sensed a great cloud of darkness waiting down that road of thought. A black fog. If he got caught in it, he wasn't sure he'd get out.

And then, as if this triggered some magical effect — something inside him kept poking him, saying _keep living, keep moving _— he came to his senses and realized he was standing in the very middle of Noxus. Alone.

_Oh. _

* * *

><p><em>Stupid. <em>This voice was himself. He glanced around, swallowed nervously. Tried to look confident.

The wrought iron streetlamps wore garlands of blue roses, bundles of black pine branches. He passed a whistling street sweeper, dusting away confetti.

_Stupid, stupid. She wasn't guiding me anywhere. She's dead. This is my fault. _As if on command, a wind blew past his ears. To the right. He purposely ignored it and stomped forward, straight.

_Come on, hon. _

_She's not there, _he told himself, scrubbing at his forehead. The crimson-gray stones of Noxus swayed before his eyes.

He felt someone probing his mind, looked up to see a pale green-eyed gentleman peering at him, walking towards him. His black suit was razor-sharp.

_Too tired to fight. _Lucian let him in. The man shamelessly looked around his mind. Saw Senna's smile, the closing of the League.

The man clapped his shoulder as he passed by. Sympathy. From a Noxian.

Lucian snorted. _I need to sit down._

_You always forget the most obvious —_

_Shut up! _He roared internally. He was shaking. Two black-haired gentlemen glanced at him, then away.

* * *

><p>The spring wind was blowing. He didn't notice he was following it again until he was sitting on a bar stool, somewhere nice. Sweating and shivering. <em>I didn't think it would be <em>this _bad_.

_You always forget —_

_Senna. Please. Please. _

_Just fucking listen to me! You always forget to drink something! _

He looked up. She had a fantastic angry voice, all thunder and panther. He couldn't believe it, but he missed that too. Missed being bitched at.

The bartender was beyond cloud-pale, with soft blue eyes and gold hair. A young Demacian man in a crisp black apron, polishing a glass.

Lucian cleared his throat. "You look lost."

"Lived here all m'life. Here." The kid passed him a tall, cold glass of water. "Drink this."

_Probably poisoned, _he thought bitterly. _Good. _He chugged it and his stomach cramped, but he could see clearly again.

He looked around. _The Lion's Paw_ _Tavern_ was written in gold, the walls were mirrors. The glossy stools covered in plushy red leather, the booths shiny dark wood.

There were a few other men sitting in a booth, too. Lucian looked at them in the mirror and watched as they gave new meaning to the words _eye-fucked_. Then a low round of chuckling.

Senna laughed. _What the hell do you expect when you look that good? Mmph. _

Feeling violated, Lucian gritted his teeth and leaned closer to the tender. "This is a gay bar."

The tender snorted. "Y'never been t'Noxus. I can tell. Just relax and they won't hurt you. Especially not with those guns."

The notion that _those guns _scared anyone anymore startled him. He doubted it when the Warden roared laughter in his face on the Rift. Even while Lucian plugged him with bolt after bolt, keeping his own mind white.

Pure.

He clutched for the guns on his pants. They were both there, safe.

(He'd compulsively cleaned hers for months. Then he realized he was wearing away the etching of her name. He hadn't rubbed it since).

He cleared his throat. "What's with the celebration?"

"Mm. The city still celebrates the marriage of the Generals Falin."

Before he could ask a question — or think of one — a girl burst through the doors, collapsed on the stool next to him, and gasped, "Joseph. One shot of Dragon Scorch, please."

Joseph nodded and pulled a green bottle off the wall. The men in the other booth began to whisper.

Lucian cleared his throat. "You all not check ID?"

Joseph cocked his head. "There's no legal drinking age in Noxus."

_Of course. _Lucian looked down at the girl. Big black sunglasses, blonde hair pulled in a braid. White stockings, red skirt, black shirt. Tall boots. _She looks twelve._

He said it. "You look twelve."

"And _you _look like you should mind your own damn business, yeh?"

_Always cutting in, _Senna whispered.

Lucian shook his head, to defy the girl and his wife. And defend them. "You're seriously about to let a twelve year old take a shot of D.S. in the middle of Noxus. She's gonna fall on her ass."

"As if that's a problem," a man murmured behind him. More laughter.

Lucian clutched his gun.

Well, her gun. His gun now.

The girl gaped at him. He noted her golden eyes above her spectacles. "This is a new one. Fuckin' dickfuck. Everyone think I listen to them." The bartender hesitated. "Come on, man, I'm upset. Can't you see I'm upset?"

Lucian nodded. _I can protect someone._ "All the better not to do it, little lady."

"I'm my own _damn property_. As _some people _seem to forget. My glory damn star, man." She scrabbled for the green bottle with little pale hands. "Gimme that shit!"

He saw Joseph look at his guns and swallow nervously.

Then someone else burst through the doors. "Catgirl, what the hell are you doin'?"

The girl gnashed her teeth. "Whatever the hell I want, stupid!"

Lucian whirled. He was relieved she'd forgotten the drink.

Malcolm Graves looked — different. Yeah. That was the right word.

The blue shirt and tight pants looked expensive, and his boots were shined. The little triangle of chest hair was well-groomed. A black leather strap across his chest.

_Huh. Guess Noxus gets to everyone. Better not stay long. _

Malcolm Graves looked at him and muttered something about a _fuckin' wheel_, then shook his head and took a seat next to the girl. "League shut down, Lucky?"

He'd forgotten the nickname. "Ayup."

Graves shook his head harder and grabbed Erinae's arm. "Hey. Doesn't mean you get to go end up in a dark alleyway."

Lucian cleared his throat. It seemed like Senna was finally quiet, listening. He didn't want to hear her again.

"What happened?"

Malcolm snorted. "You asked for it, kid."

Erinae leaned into him. She smelled of cherry blossom. Fancy perfume. "You wanna know? Get a load of this shit. I got proposed to today. Real marriage-like."

Lucian glanced at Graves, who nodded.

"I see." _That's kinda cute. Kids proposing to one another._

"By some guy I really like, yeh? That's not the fuckin' problem. The ring was pretty but I'm about to shove it straight up his ass. The real problem is —"

"He's thirty," Graves coughed.

"Oh." Lucian blinked. _Not cute._

The girl glared. "That does _not _matter. I'm more mature than you, you greasy wrinkled banana-peelin' fuckwad!" She punched Graves' shoulder, who sighed.

"Hey, hey, hey. Relax." Lucian hesitated and put a hand on her shoulders. Senna liked compliments when she was mad. "I like your boots."

_Even if they kinda make you look like a mini-hooker._

_ Rude as fuck, _Senna murmured.

"Thanks." Erinae preened. "Daddy bought them for me."

Lucian looked at Graves, who lifted his eyebrows and nodded again.

"In fact, Daddy said, _Sir Jayce, I did advise you against this action at this time. It was quite reckless, given the current state of things. _Because _Daddy _knows when I'm not feeling good."

"Daddy knows if one of them servants breathes wrong." Malcolm saw the look on Lucian's face and huffed, trying not to laugh.

Erinae was waving her hands. "So he _really _pissed me off when he was like _Erin, come on. Caelyn did it. _And you know why Caelyn did it?"

"Ummm. No." _Jayce? Did she say Jayce earlier? _

"Because he's Daddy's slave, fucknut! I'm free as fuck, alright?"

Lucian chugged his refreshed glass of water. He was slow to absorb the information, his mind still awash with bright memories of times gone.

He regarded his glass. "Alright. I guess I did ask for it." _In more ways than one. _

Snorting, Graves opened his mouth to say something. And another clamor arose behind them.

"_There she is!_"

"For fuck's _SAKE!_" Erin roared. In a breath, she was a massive tigress, roaring at the tip-top of her lungs. The glasses hanging up clicked and tinkled together. Lucian flinched. Then his instincts kicked in.

Eight greasy black-suited men. He ripped both guns from his holsters and fired on them, one after the other. The bolts were still the mild electroshock ones from the Rift — not meant to kill — but the men went down, crackling, sizzling, seizing. The bartender hid, as did the men in the booth.

There was another group coming. Chanting "—the head, aim for the head." A cluster of blue spiny darts whistled towards them. The loud, deep _ka-boom _made Lucian jump. The darts were history.

Then he saw. Malcolm was holding his smoking gun. It'd been slung across his back. He glanced at Lucian. Nodded once more.

"_Get her!_"

Lucian squinted through the smoke. A few more of them. Study bullet chased light beam. The bitter smell of Graves' gunpowder filled his nostrils — he'd gotten more than one noseful of it on the Rift. Mirrors crashed apart.

_Now this is what I'm talking about. _Senna laughed.

But there were more of them. Unslinging — were those Piltover machine guns?

_Those are banned. Holy angels._

He heard a different voice ring above the choppy ocean of noise. Weird accent. "Miss Erinae! Get down!"

Another roar. The hot tiger breath brushed against his ears. Her tail swept bottles off the racks. Slick colored drinks stained the floor.

Lucian gritted his teeth and fired until his elbows went numb. _Swip – swip – swip._

The rapid fire racket filled his ears. _Chchchchchchch._

Graves' _boom. Boom. Boom. _

Then there was a silence. A ceasefire.

He blinked, hard. _Wh —_

Then his vision exploded with white. Crackling red, streaming ribbons of fire. He was on fire. It was on him.

_Oh, baby, no, please, close your eyes, close. Close them, please, baby no. _

He probably shrieked like a little girl. Couldn't remember.

The last thing he remembered was the sight of a black barstool leg, and a fuzzy tiger's paw beyond that.


	4. The Second Time (Into the Night)

_N.B. Hey, readers. If any of you are new, welcome, welcome. Thanks for the reviews, guys. Would love to have more (but only if you want to). _

_We're not lingering, I promise. (Almost exactly half of this chapter is lemon). _

_Lemons from linebreaks 1-2 and 3 - 4. _

_vO _

* * *

><p><em>The second time she saved his life: <em>

They were in an old clapboard hotel. Snow in big white drifts all around them. She'd shaken him from a deep dark cold sleep, then handed him his new relic gun. A little kiss on his temple. _We're gonna start having fun here in a little while. _Then she left to talk to — someone.

She had the friends. Not him. And if she didn't have them, she made them.

He knew that. Their two weeks together was long enough to know.

The room's wintry silence grew. He closed his eyes, shuddered beneath the thin gray blanket and heard the old, tired refrain: _baby, please, no, close your eyes. _

So he opened them. He prayed to his personal angel, St. Sarturo Leanbranch, then thought _she's gonna think I'm a crybaby. _

He was waiting on it. Two nights ago they'd been surrounded by a gang of barbarians, smelling of damp fur and muttering about _black interlopers_. She'd beaten the shit out of five of them. He'd only gotten two, in the knees.

She'd clapped him on the back. But he thought he saw disappointment in her warm brown eyes, by the snow-fogged lamps of Angel's Crossing.

And what happened when she found out he was a weakling? A Brightbridge dropout loser with no ties, bravery, connections?

He already knew. She'd leave his ass in the dirt. In a breath.

Then — nothing.

He sat up in the bed, wincing, tracing the smooth white bore of the gun, dipping his fingers inside of it.

In his mind's eye, he saw a neat little Demacian apartment burning. His white-armored, white-skinned soldier figurines were melting. His mother's black shoes.

_Huh. This new gun would look better with my brains on it. _

_Oh, honey, no, close your eyes, please. _

Then her angry face was hovering before his. She slapped him. Hard. "Baby — what? What in the fuck?"

He coughed to clear his throat, choked. And had a full-fledged panic attack in front of her, shaking. Crying like a little bitch.

He hadn't had a fit since his first night at Brightbridge. The night after his blade-instructor clapped him on the shoulder and said _Good for you, for making it out of the slums. _His father and uncle had been top-level diplomats. Emissaries to Noxus.

She was shaking him. Then she was on his chest, kissing him hard, over and over again until he stopped crying. She unzipped her white fur coat and pulled him into it, then cupped his cheek with a little smile.

"I'm like this," he gasped.

"Yeah. I know. I knew." She shrugged. "Doesn't change a damn thing."

"I'm a weakling."

"That's some bullshit and you know it."

"I ran —"

"From the Academy? It's strong to run away from people who don't protect you."

He looked her in the eye. He knew he spoke the truth. "You better start running then."

"That's some more bullshit. And you know it. Look." She held her own gun up. It was made from the same white-crystal soulstone. Smaller. Sleeker. "You know how to use one of these."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So I'm redeemed because my mother thought shooting was a good thing to teach her son."

Senna sighed, her breath scented like cinnamon, then spread her warm hands on his thighs. "Sweetie. You're redeemed because you want to be. You try to be. I can tell. But you can't give up, alright? Not ever. Keep living, keep moving. No matter what."

She punched his shoulder, but gently. Her ebony black hair had little snow shimmers in it, her cheeks turned a dusty rose color by the cold.

He pinched his nose. "Uh-huh."

"Life's not comfy all the time. Always a part to it that's worth it, though. Sometimes it's a small thing, like your favorite meal. Sometimes it's a nice blue sunset, or a cool picture in a magazine, or a nifty gadget from Piltover. Or a new friend. There's always something neat coming."

"Like you," he said, then clamped his mouth shut with a blush.

"Yeah. Sure. If you really think I'm cool. I dunno, man, some of those gadgets from Piltover…" She laughed and he did, too. But he thought he saw a little tear run down her cheek. "Allow me to illustrate."

She liked to drag him to rooftops. Though this hotel was only two stories, and though it was as creaky as a fake watch from Ionia, there was a rickety old hot-tub humming away beneath the cold black starry dome of sky. Silvery mountains rose around them.

He looked at the churning waters and wondered — _was she planning this anyway? Or did she know what would happen? _

She was grinning. She flicked a lightswitch and the foam became white. Little lights in the base of the tub.

They stripped one another. His jaw chattered and he ducked beneath the soothing waves.

The light — the water. They wrapped her strong dark body in an angelic white glow. Her curves were blurred and softened but still looked like heaven. Her smooth hands worked slowly up his bare body, then down it, moving the tension elsewhere. Replacing it with currents of warm desire.

Her warm lips brushed his chilly ear, then slid to his mouth. She suckled it. And his tongue, taking it into hers. She tasted like bitter chocolate, cinnamon. He moved his hand to her breasts — the water made them springy, bouncy. He clutched them. Pinched her nipples. Heard her murmur into his ear. It may have been the first time she said _I love you. _Neither was sure.

His fingertips drifted to her lower lips, her crevice. "Nothing in here's gonna hurt you, right?"

She looked at him like he was stupid.

"The — the chemicals to treat the —"

She leaned back and spread her legs. "Finger me. Come on."

He blushed hard. His fingers settled on her opening, moving in a slow, slow circle. She was wet. Not just from the tub. His index crept lightly inside her, and he was startled by how hot she was.

He watched her lean back, moan with pleasure. A deep rich sound. The bath-light brightened her round cheeks.

The first silky strands of green-blue Aurora played along the black sky, high above. He slid his finger in deeper, into the plush slick warmth. When she moaned again into the steam, he added another finger. Then another.

Then she was straddling him, big breasts pressed to his face. She loved doing that. Overwhelming him. He shuddered, panicking, thinking _great, now I'm gonna come too fast and she'll leave me._

"I'm not going to leave you. Damn, kid." She gasped. Their lower bodies were joining somewhere in the warm water, among the ribbons of steam. Her lower lips were kissing his cock, pulling him in deeper. She was hot. Slick. He gritted his teeth. His face was cold. She was tugging at his flesh. Embracing it. Her hands settled on his hips and squeezed those too. "Godsdamn."

The strongest impression was her face. Her eyes. The strongest memory.

The blue-green-gold Aurora playing along inside them, inside the arch of night sky in her pupils. Wide and dark. Her hair tied in a tight pony tail and still wet from the steam. Eyes shining with affection. Laughter.

Warmth.

* * *

><p><em>The Present<em>

_ I don't need no stupid League to take care of me, I said, as I walked my ass straight into Noxus and died. _

He slowly cracked one eye open. A slant of white moonlight fell across his soft bed and blue blanket.

He heard arguing. Lots and lots of arguing outside that closed door. _Oh, great. _

" — the only King in written history to get offended by gifts!" Katarina du Couteau. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

King Ryland II: "But we're not going to attack them! I told Ionia multiple times — though those spices do taste pretty nice."

Someone else, a well-bred voice: "Your Majesty. You are aware those are spices to be used in the making of cologne, correct? Not consumption."

A longish pause.

"No. I do now. Thank you, Demetrius."

"You're most welcome."

A different argument: "You can't just walk into a bar out there and get yourself killed! What if he actually kidnaps you?"

Lucian frowned. _Is that Jayce? _

The Catgirl from earlier sounded pissed. "I'm old enough to do whatever the fuck I want, _dad_."

It was Jayce. "Obviously not. Obviously you aren't because the instant I take my fucking eyes off you someone tries to stick you in a _godsdamned suitcase_ —"

Soraka. Of Noxus. "Jayce, please try to control yourself."

Lucian looked at the ceiling and took a deep, deep breath. _It's like they have a fucking League over here anyway. No wonder they didn't come._

_ Hey, _Senna said.

Lucian groaned softly. _What, babe?_

_ Don't get yourself killed._

_ Thanks for the excellent tip. _

Outside, Jayce was roaring, "You're not old enough to go anywhere in this godsdamned city alone!"

A loud, shrill shout: "_IF I'M NOT OLD ENOUGH ANYWAY WHY YOU TRYIN' T'MARRY ME, YOU FUCKING BOWLING BALL-ASS MOTHERFUCKER?_"

Lucian snorted, then choked. There was a long, long pause.

Demetrius: "Sir Jayce, please don't look at me."

Jayce: "Why not? You adopted her. Daddy."

"And I explicitly implored you to wait."

_Screw this. _Lucian got to his feet with a wince. _Lucian out. _

While he checked his bag in the scant light — the guns were there, along with new packets of food and an elegant red water cask — he heard a few more shouts and a door slam. Then another.

Then he checked the windows. They were heavily barred. Not to mention eight stories up.

_Damn. _He reached for the door handle and hesitated.

"Ryland. They're going to be afraid because you can point anywhere on the map and be like _hey, Caelyn and/or Ezreal, I need you to take a massive fiery shit right there. I'll trade you a hug and a stomach rub._" Katarina sounded tired and pissy too.

Lucian gathered his nerves and opened the door. A long dark hallway, fancy paintings on both walls, but — there were two open doors with light spilling out of them that he'd have to walk past.

_Shit. It's been a while since I've done this. _

He tiptoed forward, listening to the conversation despite himself.

"I wouldn't ever attack. We've got the metaphysical equivalent of a sunroof between us and annihilation." Ryland sighed harshly. "Ignoring the fact that I'm a healer and not a warmongerer."

The slant of light. The trick was to go slowly — movement caught peoples' eyes — but not too slowly. He crept forward.

They were all seated in a pretty conference-looking room. Red chairs, a golden chandelier shaped like a sailboat. Ezreal in black, Luxanna with a sleeping child on her lap, Katarina, Darius, Soraka, Malcolm Graves.

Slim Ryland in black jeans with his back to Lucian, looking thoughtful. The others watching him. "We did what we had to do, but there were consequences. You don't just take a giant fiery explosion to the afterlife with everything fine."

Lucian blinked. The little fragment of his addiction to Senna yearned towards the words. She wanted to listen. She was always curious.

He shoved her away. Tried to.

"All those souls being pushed places they shouldn't be — that messed us up. But the Lightbringer's working on it. It's just such a vast undertaking. A huge problem."

Then Lucian froze. Catgirl was sitting in a big red chair on someone's lap. A little willowy kid in torn pale jeans and a light blue shirt.

But he had that spaced-out look to him — Senna always called it _the undead haze_.

_Holy — an undead demon? What? Is that possible?_

The undead demon was nuzzling Catgirl's temple, scarred arms wrapped around her chest. Her blonde braid was a frizzy now, her white stockings falling.

Erinae scowled. "Don't you fuckin' lick me, Foxboy. Don't you fuckin' do it."

Caelyn licked her cheek, purring.

* * *

><p>Caelyn, Lucian thought, was dead.<p>

He remembered the celebrations in Demacia. He and Senna had gotten falling-down drunk, staggered back to their hotel and fucked for an hour while shouts and screams and fireworks filled their ears. Then he passed out.

Vividly remembered the next morning, looking at a newspaper article saying_ 7,000 Dead in Celebration May Be Punishment from the Hereafter_. _Celebrations Continue — Greatest Noxian Enemy Slays Self. _

Senna in his big t-shirt, no pants or underwear on, sitting on his chest. Grinning. Flicking the head of his cock. _You got any life left in you? _He didn't think he did.

He always did.

While he pretended to read, she nibbled and sucked on him. Then the door rang. Room service.

He didn't notice Senna was completely naked until she tugged the little blonde serving girl and the breakfast cart to the foot of the bed. Locked the door. The girl was looking at his dick, starry-eyed.

_Good gods. He's hung like a war stallion._

_I know, right? Isn't it grand?_ Senna laughed.

He'd gripped for the blankets, blushing, swearing, muttering _I'm not into this. _

But Senna laughed again, stripped the little blonde thing of her blue apron, smacked her ass and winked._ Just relax. We're feeling festive. _

She wanted to show him off.

She and the blonde were making out on top of him, a tangle of soft skin, legs, hot womanhood. Another set of breasts pressed to his half-open lips, another pair of thighs clasped around one of his own. Tiny, sweet, pert. A slim white hand pawing at him, settling on his sack while Senna's pushed and prodded his shaft.

_Oh, and check this out. _Senna grabbed a syrup-pourer from the breakfast cart. The tight little blonde was holding his wrists down and edging her hot, wet lower lips onto his dick, backing up onto it. But he couldn't fit in. It was driving him crazy.

Then the syrup. That fucking strawberry syrup all over him. It was thick and heavy around his cock, like a second skin. Their fingers squished through the slow sweet sugar, pulled on him.

Senna and the other girl lapping at him like tigresses, giggling about how delicious he was, light and dark-skinned. Senna sucking on him, tongue swirled all the way around him. Senna fingerbanging that other girl until the moans overcame his ears, until the come burst out of him, feeling like a Piltover freight train.

* * *

><p>Regardless. The point — what was the point? She made him forget.<p>

Oh. Caelyn was just as dead as Senna was.

In the present, he yanked both guns out of his holsters. _This time you die for good, you fire-breathing demon. _He could protect people. Save Demacia. Whiten his mind.

But the King of Noxus was standing in front of him, looking concerned. "Oh, good. You're awake."

_Don't get yourself killed, _Senna whispered again.

A pause.

Lucian averted his gaze from the undead demon kid, who was kissing on Catgirl's neck while she grumbled. His scarred hands kneaded her stomach. _Purrrrr?_

"Stop snuggling me so hard." Erinae yawned. "Y'putting me to sleep."

_Sleeping near that thing. I've got to get out of here._

_Don't kill yourself, _Senna whispered.

He shook himself. "Yeah. I'm awake."

Ryland clasped both of Lucian's wrists. They went numb. Lucian flinched away, tucked the guns back in their holsters.

"Thank you for your help earlier, against Riveria's men. It's greatly appreciated. We're sorry for — well — you know."

"Setting my ass on fire?" Lucian heard Malcolm chuckle.

"That, and, well. The League closing down. It wasn't our intention." Ryland looked away. "Anyway. Not staying the night?"

_Hell no, _Lucian thought. "I appreciate it, but no. Thank you."

"In that case, I'll get you an overnight escort."

Lucian blinked. "That won't be necessary."

"Noxus after dark can be a little sketchy." Ryland cocked his head.

"No, no, no, I'm fine." Escorts were bad news. Lucian couldn't remember how many times he and Senna had to kill the men who were just 'helping.'

"I got him for tonight," Malcolm grunted, and heaved to his feet. Catgirl struggled out of the undead demon's lap a second later.

"Me too. Didn't realize Defender Man would be such a whiny fuckdick."

"That's all men, sweetheart." Katarina pushed her hair back with a sigh and strode away, red heels clicking on the stone. "Later, Lucian. Take care."

_I didn't know she knew my name. _"Thanks."

"Hold on for three secs, Lucky. I have to get stuff. Then we'll leave." Malcolm nodded.

Lucian hesitated. _I should bolt. _

Senna again. _Don't get yourself —_

_Damn it. _

The Noxians were peering at him. Mind reading.

Lucian cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Ryland raised his eyebrows. "That's part of what I was talking about. The misplaced souls."

_Misplaced. Like me. _Lucian cleared his throat again. It suddenly burned.

Then he heard Catgirl say, in a soft voice, "Surprised you're not on Jayce's side, Daddy."

"Oh, I was very clear. I've waited on Caelyn for three lifetimes and two parallel dimensions, if what the Star-Seer Soraka said was true. Not to mention a full year and a half following his glorious resurrection."

_Resurrection. _Lucian's palms sweated. His fingers itched for a trigger. To kill that thing on sight. _Undead demon. _The red-haired thing was resting his cheek on his knees, dozing, purring to himself.

"I told Sir Jayce the least he could do was wait for a mere fifteen months. You weren't at war or dead, and he could speak to you, touch you. A man should wait. It's proper. If there's to be anything proper about any of this." Demetrius got to his feet with a sigh and ruffled Erinae's hair. "Furthermore, the pimps often tell the girls that they're married to the business. And I told Sir Jayce a fourteen-year-old was likely not prepared to remarry, as is entirely understandable."

The little Catgirl was blushing. "Yeh. Riveria said that I was married to his money. Made me wear his ugly ring to flash when the men asked if I was taken. Part of why I freaked on Defender Man. But there's something else, just —" She huffed and nosed Demetrius' palm. Daddy made her feel safe to talk about everything. Not like Defender Dude, who got real mad sometimes when she talked about _the business_. "Ughhh."

They all waited patiently.

"Like — we'll be laying in bed and he'll freak out, grab me, be like _I just don't want to lose you_. Like hello, stupid. I'm right fucking here. I told him that and to quit it and he cried."

Lucian had never seen so many people turn bright red at once.

"Well. Regardless." Ryland looked away. "We're all just glad you're alright. You too, Lucian."

"Um. Thanks." _I think. _

"This guy'll protect me." Catgirl tugged on Lucian's hand with a multi-watt smile, bright as Piltover neon. She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes. "I gotta thing for heroes."

_Oh, great._ Somewhere misplaced, Senna laughed."And I got a thing for girls who aren't fourteen."

Malcolm Graves was coming back, looking more rugged, more tired. He asked Ryland two questions, quietly. Sounded like _which hotel _and _you think it's important? _

"The Star." King Ryland II shrugged. "And probably."

The Outlaw nodded, handed Catgirl a black designer suitcase. Probably more of Daddy's doing. "Let's go, Catgirl. Figure I can't talk you out of nothing."

Erinae rolled her pale shoulders. She was excited. They walked towards the palace's exit. "I just — I need to breathe fresh air. That's all."

Lucian looked to Malcolm. He snorted.


	5. Sleepless

_N.B. Thanks for the reviews and tips (and the excitement! Book hype!) I'm actually trying to gain perspective on the novel through this. Dunno yet if it worked. We'll see.  
><em>

_ I do wish there was some way to explain how much reviews help. I dunno, man, just take my word for it. _

_ Weirdly enough — there's a Carlos Santana song called "Into the Night" (like the last chapter). Just found it 30 seconds ago. Kinda fits Senna. I think so, anyway. _

**_Lemon from pagebreak 3 onward. _**

_ Much love. — vO_

* * *

><p>Like a gift from the heavens, it was easy to tell —<br>It was love from above that could save me from hell.  
>She had fire in her soul. It was easy to see<br>how the devil himself could be pulled out of me…

_Into the Night, feat. Carlos Santana _

* * *

><p>"The King himself said it's sketchy at night, huh?" He nibbled his thumbnail. It didn't look to sketchy to him.<p>

Then again, they had Catgirl's luminous eyes and three guns plainly visible. Maybe enough to scare some things.

Malcolm grunted. "Part of what I like about King Ryland. Honest to the core."

Lucian hesitated. Senna had finally fallen silent, and he should have been happy about it, but he — wasn't.

Noxus at night was her kinda thing. Tall black cathedral pillars, snarling dragons. He wished she were here to enjoy it.

_Might as well ask. Might never get the chance again. _As they rounded a corner and waited for full, rowdy, late-night carriages to pass, he said, "Malcolm Graves of Noxus. Wasn't expecting that."

"Oh, aye, yes, quite." Malcolm's smile was small.

"You couldn't come back to the League? Any of you?"

"Not after what happened. Made it seem all kinda — what's that big fancy 'I' word you and Creepy use, Catgirl?"

Erin blinked sleepily. "Me and Daddy?"

"Yeah. Sure." Malcolm grimaced. Lucian snorted.

"Irrelevant."

"The other one."

"Inconsequential." Erin yawned.

Graves nodded. "Least he's been teaching you something useful. And acceptable.

"Foxboy thinks Defender Dude owns me. I punched him smack on his nose." Erinae yawned again. The flash of her canines made the skin on Lucian's body tighten.

_Hell. Me and Malcolm might be the only two humans in this city. _"I would think keeping peace on this damn country was important. Maybe it's just me."

Malcolm startled him by putting a hand on his shoulders. "Lucky. You wanna know my fondest memory of the north?"

"I'm not sure."

"Me, on a big black wolf's back, running through the snow with eight billion poisonous needle robots behind us. E-Z looking like a volcano and blowing a hole in the sky."

"I was there," Erin added. She skipped, swirled her little skirt, and grinned. "Carrying the others as a tiger. It was fun as hell."

"Hole in the sky." Lucian scratched his ear. His stomach twisted.

"Ayup."

_You're curious, aren't you_, Senna whispered. Then she laughed.

_Damn it. Why are you always right? _

They made their way towards the Star at an easy pace. He ignored the clusters of lantern-bright eyes staring him down. Or so he thought. He realized he was sweating, nervous.

"It's just the country," Malcolm said in the lobby. There was a group of dark-eyed women peering at them from among the rich red carpet, whispering and giggling. Vampresses. But Graves simply nodded. Recognition?

Lucian glanced at him. "You a mind reader now, too?" The idea of Erinae staying with them — she'd share a bed with someone — unnerved him. But he didn't say anything. _I'll sleep on the floor_. _If I sleep. _

"Little bit. Only a little of that mind reading shit. Lots of strange things happen when you hang around Ez and King Lightboy." They headed for the stairs.

"Weird shit is what he's saying." Erinae leaned on Graves and took his hands. She smiled. "Daddy II. Can I call y'that?"

"Not on your fuckin' life, Catgirl." But the words sounded fond.

_Man, what happened. _The thought was Lucian's own.

"For instance," Graves said. "I know you ain't gonna sleep a wink tonight. No use trying."

_Damn it. _"I bet that comes in handy, doesn't it? The mind thing."

"More than you'd think."

* * *

><p>A nice hotel — Senna hadn't seen too many of those. The pale humming Piltover lights, rich gold and red blankets, the black marble coffee table. It all made Catgirl and Malcolm look like figures from an old city painting. Called <em>Father and Daughter, <em>maybe.

He felt a surge of irritation. He always did when he didn't understand. A lot of his and Senna's arguments had been him shaking her and shouting _help me understand_!

A few more were him breaking down and sobbing, _just tell me it's alright. Just tell me it's gonna be alright. _Tugging her hands. It felt like praying.

"Hell. I'll help you understand. If you really want me to." Graves looked through the fridge. Pomegranate juice. _Gratis_.

"You're still off the sauce after the sky-hole." Lucian changed into a white shirt, ignoring Catgirl's sigh of appreciation for his body, and collapsed on one of the fancy double beds.

"Yep. Free counseling." Malcolm yanked the juice open and bolted half of it down. "Free lotta things."

"So you stay."

"Yep."

"Alongside, I don't know — war criminals? Demons? Pedophiles?" He sounded a little too urgent. Graves was an Outlaw, after all. Still…

"Destroyers," Erinae added, with a little cat yawn. She'd unpacked her designer suitcase. Gray silk designer pajama shorts and shirt that fit her a little too well. Custom fit.

_Daddy, huh. _Lucian wanted to ask if the money was the motivation for the adoption and didn't.

Malcolm regarded the pretty glass bottle. The juice inside looked like blood. "Any man who thinks he doesn't have something dark inside him is a fool."

_That's heavy, coming from an Outlaw_. "You can work to rid yourself of them. Have the angels help." He was squeezing both guns. "It's a choice." He realized Graves was watching his face with quirked lips, Catgirl grinning, and snarled. "Look. I didn't come here to have my belief system challenged, alright? I ended up here on accident."

"There are no accidents," Graves and Erinae said at the same time. Erinae smacked him. "Jinx! You owe me five billion sodas. Ain't that right, Daddy II."

"Damn it, girlie. Don't call me that. I liked 'Old Ass McGee' better."

_Jinx. What the hell would she say? _Lucian ignored them. "Oh. Hell no. There are plenty of accidents. _Billions _of them. You can't say you don't believe in angels then say _everything's divinely ordered_. That's not how that fucking works."

Too late, he realized he wasn't arguing with his escorts, but with Senna. She never believed.

Erinae cocked her head, painting her toenails a girly pink. "I think it's great to believe in shit. I believe in a lot of shit. Belief is awesome."

Graves looked up at the high ceiling, the glossy light fixture shaped like a swan. "You still serve that Ultimate Goodness?"

_He still remembers. _Lucian debated not answering, tapping his foot on the plush carpet.

_Don't clam up like a two-year-old_, Senna said. _Makes you seem like a little asshat._

He sighed. "I'm stupid, right? For believing."

"Nope. We found him."

Lucian stared.

"Ultimate Goodness. He's up in the castle. Hangs out up there, fixing things. He's good for that." Graves chugged the other half of the juice. "Before you run out of here, I thought you'd like to talk to him."

He almost said no. "Sure, I guess. I doubt he's it."

"He is." Erinae shrugged and twirled her loose hair. She hoped Defend-Dude wasn't drinking himself into a coma. "Damn gee, mate. For a believer, y'got a hard time believing."

"Because things aren't what he expects. Me and Catgirl kinda got a crash course on that." Malcolm ruffled Catgirl's hair, and Lucian felt a deep, sharp pang of loneliness. Disconnection. Displacement.

_Don't clam up, _Senna said. _Don't do it, man. You better talk. _

He pressed a finger to his temple. "No, no, I'm used to the unexpected. Believe me."

Graves' eyebrows rose. "The unexpected isn't the same as 'not what you expect.' But ain't I turnin' into a fortune cookie." He lifted his booted feet atop the rich red sofa. "Why'd you not go to Demacia? Born there, right?"

_Why do all these people know so much about me? _"Man, I don't know. I — itchy feet. I wanted to go somewhere else."

"And do somethin'. You know, you're gonna think I'm a big ass for this, but that's the only problem I have living in the castle. I'm damn restless."

"Even after all that northern bullshit." Erinae sat up.

"Soundin' surprised. That's the reason you didn't say yes. Ain't 'cause he's thirty." Graves shrugged. "You're not done either."

Erinae flushed. "Fuck, man. Foxboy said he's done with adventuring after all his."

The words left Lucian's mouth before he could stop them. "I don't know that I call killing half a million people _adventuring_. Closer to _demonic mass slaughtering without remorse_."

That struck a nerve. Erinae bared her teeth. The tasteful nightclothes made the feral expression strange. "They were gonna kill the Doves and Daddy in front of him. Chop Daddy's hands off. Torture all of 'em. Don't fuckin' blame him. You'd do the same shit."

Lucian was already shaking his head. "Not at all. I haven't. I worked to not do that. To live without and to accept the will of the angels. To be strong." _And it worked. For a while. _

"That's some bullshit. Y'didn't because your gun slinging-ass couldn't. Either that or you didn't fucking try." She snarled, her pink nail polish spilling across the black towel beneath her. "And you know that shit. Fuckin' pansy-ass."

He was startled.

"You tellin' me you really loved someone and didn't — didn't do everything you could to keep them?" Her voice softened. She looked startled by what she'd said.

Young. Vulnerable. So young and vulnerable Lucian couldn't be angry.

"Hey." Graves snapped his fingers before Erin's face. "What happened to all them fancy manners Daddy taught you?"

Erinae changed her accent and turned her nose to the ceiling. "You, sir, are an uncouth scoundrel and a dastardly ruffian."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." Lucian switched the lamp off. He guessed he wasn't sleeping on the floor after all. Sleeping at all, because —

* * *

><p>An hour later, he realized.<p>

Malcolm Graves was right. Sleep hung before his face like the silver moonbeams. He could dip his fingers into it, but not feel it.

_That's some bullshit and y'only didn't do it because your gun slinging-ass couldn't. _

That was not true. Lucian the Purifier shouldn't listen to a cranky hormonal fourteen-year-old Noxian ex-hooker. Nope.

When he and Senna decided to attack the Grand Guardskeep in the very heart of the Shadow Isles, he'd made the call. _We can do this. I trust you, Senna._

_ Took you long enough. Ha. _

A month-long exodus, deep into the heart of the dark. The mist, the sharp branches, the snowy relic glow from their twinned guns — it made him feel like he was in a dream. Even with the menacing spirits, round after round emptied into their gape-eyed slack-jawed faces, a happy dream. Because he was with her. And because he was serving Ultimate Goodness. Restoring a wavering balance.

He remembered bending over the tattered map with her, the smell of breakfast bacon and smoke lingering in the thick thorny bushes. The way her long, black hair was hung with bright warding stones, white feathers from terns and owls. Her long dark legs were painted with silky white ribbons. Designs in herbal paste. It mystified and aroused him, that her body itself was protection for their spirits.

So that was why Lucian stroked her cheek, adjusted a hair behind her ear, then cupped her breast. The idea of protection got him going. The idea of safety crept between his legs, warm. It throbbed there.

She hesitated — the only time Senna had ever hesitated to fuck.

Lucian wasn't the type to approach her for sex.

But intimacy made you more vulnerable. The spirits could sense when someone's soul was a churning ocean of lust, desperate love, hormones. And filter in, like moss growing through cracks in stone.

But of course Lucian wouldn't know that until much later.

She liked to know more than him. She liked that as much as he liked being protected.

They were both sitting on the damp dirt. It was always foggy and damp here. He undid the spirit-stone studded belt around her taut waist, moved the holy-water imbued cloth away from her nether regions. The soft skin there. The little red flush inside, hot already. Waiting. He touched it and watched the pink quiver. _I love the way you look in the light. Where I can see how beautiful you are. _

_ You love the light in general. _She leaned up, kissed him, wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. And kissed him gently. She knew he liked gentleness as much as she liked it rough. They both gave each other what they wanted.

She leaned back. The black sleeping bag beneath her cushioned the dirt. She laughed when she realized his cock was already probing her opening. _I promise I didn't wear any aphrodisiacs. _

_ You're beautiful and I love you. I really love you. _It was easier to say in a dream.

Her eyebrows lifted. _You're learning. You can trust me._

He believed her. _Mmmm. _He listened to her body. The soft sigh of contentment. Her heart thrumming between her round breasts. The protections extended even here — little white circlets crowning her nipples. Smelled sweet. His lips tucked beneath her jaw, kissing the pulse there. She was warm. Alive.

Her hand guided him inside. Sweetness. Connection. He covered her jaw with kisses and heard another little laugh. Her hands folded beneath his ass, pulling him tight. Deep inside. Chest to chest. He thought he heard his heartbeat echoing hers. He didn't realize he was nuzzling her like an animal until she giggled, then gasped and moaned. Moaned louder. Moaned _so thick_, _so big. _

Part of him was on guard for spirits of darkness, drawn by the noise. But it was dawn, the holiest time of day. Senna was letting him pray to the angels every morning, though she insisted it didn't work…

Never mind that. He was deep, deep inside her. A part of her. A part of that connection.

When her body slowly pulsed around him, sucking at him, and she arched her back, he murmured a prayer of thankfulness and emptied his seed into her.

Then —

_Hon, that's some bullshit and you know it. You only didn't do it because you couldn't. Or else you couldn't try._

_ I did try. I didn't freeze up. I promise. I didn't. I didn't just watch and gape. I didn't just close my eyes, oh, baby, no. I tried. I couldn't — I promise, I know that for a fact. My mind is pure, my conscience clean. I didn't just leave her in a panic. I didn't run. I tried to purify it, I —_

_ I don't owe her for saving my life. I don't. _

The Outlaw was right. Sleep was not coming.


	6. Windows & Thread (Part One)

_ N.B. Dear Reader, _

_ If you don't want vO OC, skip pagebreaks 1-5. There's an __**OC lemon from 3-4**_.

_I'm doing my utmost to make sure this is a Lucian story, not a vO story with Lucian floating around in it._

_ I'd like to thank Brandon for inspiring me with his ideas of women and Kejia with ways to articulate those ideas._

_ My other muse Harrison for reaching out to me._

_ And my Willow-Dove in Texas, who inspires me for all the wrong reasons. _

_ (P.S. Over half this chapter is Lucian, I promise). _

* * *

><p>As for Erinae Falin, the Half-Cat —<p>

_Man, I was havin' such a good time. Damn it, Defender-Dummy. _

The night before, her and Foxboy ended up in the dream palace.

It was empty now. She had the urge to shout _t'sant! Run, y'stupid fuck!, _turn tiger, and chase Caelyn out a stained glass window.

Instead, he took her little hand in his scarred one. She led him.

They wandered around the glass-cut rooms, past the sparkling starlit fountains, past the swan-shaped swimming pools and Aurora-bright bookshelves.

They found the silver loom near the moonstone throne and silver birdcage. Daddy was working on thread. Wearing one of his sharp black suits. Of course.

"Ah, yes. I was awaiting you two." He squinted at the book on his lap. _Spinning for the Untalented. _He looked frustrated.

"How the heck you get a book here, Daddy-o?" Erinae frowned. "You're asleep."

She knew it didn't work. She'd tried to bring the sexy parts of Caelyn's journal into her dream. But when she opened it, the crisp pages were stuck together, swirled with wet blue-green ink.

"Photographic memory, love. Since you two aren't chasing each other for once — can you braid?"

_He called me 'love.' Ehehehe. _She and Foxboy knelt by the long cold silver strings. Caelyn took a piece in his mouth.

She scrabbled at the thread. Sometimes strings made her feel silly, like a cat.

Then — where his scarred fingers rested, the silver turned crimson. The strings turned sunlit gold beneath Erinae's hands. A great long thick loop, then —

They stood on the top porch and looked out, across the shimmering castle's garden grounds, across the stellar sea.

Above the Wheel. The long, silver spokes were dented and frayed. The delicate white crystal in the center was fogged with gray. And the Southern World, Death's former Kingdom —

"That's the one we need coerced and returned." Daddy put a hand on Foxboy's shoulders. The sphere was drifting a breath away from its connector. Kept in slow revolution by gravity and the Lightbringer's prayers.

Erinae's palms sweated. _Criminy geez. Doesn't look good._

"We'll be fine." Demetrius smiled. "I promise." She believed him.

Caelyn nodded, resigned to doing the necessary. He took the _Caelynae _thread, whipped it like a lasso. The loop fell through the ocean of stars, sparkling in the black like a dying firework.

Then it hitched around the Southern World. The globe pulsed a moody crimson-indigo. Throbbed with color.

Foxboy yanked backwards, stumbled. She and Daddy caught him. The thread all slipped away. It would've burned Caelyn's hands, had they not been scarred.

They held their breath. A shining green supernova far in the distance like five million springtides at once.

Then the world rejoined. The _Caelynae _thread sucked to the dying spoke and wrapped there, mending, fixing. The Southern World looked like a yarn ball, but made of colored glass. Like a toy.

She wanted to swat it.

A long relieved sigh.

Daddy sighed harder. "The lack of gods overseeing this troubles me."

"Maybe it's just us." Erinae took Daddy's hand. "Forever and ever fixing it. I can see it."

"Aye. I'd enjoy that, Master." Caelyn nosed his shoulder.

"I would too." His smile warmed both their bodies. "Suppose it's not that bad."

Then Daddy kissed Foxboy's forehead, picked Erinae up and held her while she turned to an orange tabby cat. She awoke in a great mood, purring and kneading Jayce's nipples.

* * *

><p>But Defender Dude was really cranky. First day teaching <em>Intro to Techmaturgy <em>at the Falin University of Noxus.

As she cooked him eggs and toast, he grumbled, shaved, showered. He looked at her over the breakfast table, wearing boxer shorts covered with hearts.

"Why the good mood?"

"Had a great dream. Me, Daddy, Fuckboy fixed the Wheel. For now. Helpin' Godboy out." She nodded rapidly and was confused when he quit eating his toast.

Defend-Dude sighed. "Daddy was there, huh?"

"Ayup."

Jayce tapped his spoon against his coffee cup. "Weird that I wasn't. There, I mean."

She shrugged. "Just ignorin' the fact that we saved the whole stupid Wheel of Existence with some rainbow weave, yeh. I guess."

"I don't show up to most of these things." Jayce cocked his head. "I'm his reflection, right?"

"Yeh?" She leaned over and kissed his nose. "Quit bein' nervous. Y'scarin' people. They're going to love you. Probably too much. Then I'll kick their asses. _Fuck you AND your fuckin' scholarship, nerd-ass._ _Goin' to Kick-Ass-Ville College instead._"

She thought he'd smile. But he didn't.

"I — I dunno." He sighed. "You've been in a good mood since he adopted you. Just non-stop happy for two months." She stared at him. "Like _on crack_ happy."

"Uhhhhhhh." She cocked her head. "Are you one of those weirdos that wants me to cry?"

"That's not what I —" He got up and shook his head. "Never mind." He vanished into his closet. She frowned, tapping the table.

"Sir Jayce." She used her Daddy's Girl accent, preening in her own pair of Jayce's boxers. "You may, of course, tell me what's troubling you."

He looked out of the closet with half a suit on. "You know Caelyn's basically your brother now, right? They're married. Or like your dad. Or stepdad. I don't fucking know."

"Yeh?"

"So you should — oh, I dunno — quit fucking him?"

"What happened to _I'm not Demacian, Erinae, go ahead_." She stood up on her tiptoes. Did her pole-dancer stretches. The studio was still closed for repairs.

She was disappointed.

"I — I just —"

"You just," she said automatically. "You just."

"I mean, I'm not enough?" He had that casual-nervous voice he said _I love you _in.

"Would y'eat the same thing for dinner every night?" That's what the Willow-Doves always told their girlfriends. Sometimes it worked.

"So that's all it is to you." He muttered into his suits, "Of course it is." She still heard him. Frowned harder.

He looked good in a suit though. Damn.

She put on her _hot for teacher _outfit. White stockings, red plaid skirt, black heels. Her silver Willow-Dove pin.

Blonde hair in a braid. That would make Daddy laugh.

When Defense Man stood before the mirror, combing his hair and tugging his lapels, he murmured, "And Daddy approves."

"He gave Fuckboy permission. Not me. I'm free." She nuzzled his arm. "I don't need permission for shit."

"Right."

They left. She was walking him to the gates. In a handsome tea-room, they passed Foxboy dozing as a fox against Daddy's side, while Daddy worked on his never-ending stack of papers. She petted the fox, then smooched Daddy on the cheek. But he was being weird too.

"Sir Jayce, it was not my intention."

Jayce scowled above his sensible teacher's suit, tie and briefcase. Looking away. Mind talking. Erin couldn't hear him.

"If she's anything like Caelyn —" a brief pause. Demetrius Falin sat forward on his elbows. "She is in some ways." A pause. "No, I agree, not in the obedience part. She's probably got traces of a Bipolar disorder, in a manic phase. It's been around three months now, actually." Jayce's face filled with thunder. Demetrius' eyebrows rose. "Jealousy is also unbecoming on a grown man." Then, "Please. Don't do that. Please wait. She isn't ready, not at this moment — yes, I know you know her better."

Jayce whirled and strode away. Daddy got up to chase him to the gates.

"What in the fuck," she whispered to the sleeping fox. He chuffed. She settled beside Caelyn on the couch and groomed his red fur.

* * *

><p>Caelyn spent a lot of time sleeping. Healing. Taking the herbs Soraka gave him.<p>

There'd been an exciting shouting match between Soraka, Ezreal and King Ryland before Soraka made Caelyn medicine. Even still, Erin was in charge of bringing it to him.

Erinae followed him to the soft red couch in the alcove outside Daddy's office. She flipped through her sleazy gossip magazine (_you bet your ass I'm on the cover_), then watched Caelyn doze off again, as a human this time.

Then she snuck her hand between his legs and stroked him through his jeans. He bared his teeth in his sleep and growled.

She spread out on top of him, on top of his loose pale jeans and paler blue shirt. His bony body. Kissed his chin. And cupped his balls.

A sleepy murmur. "Master, please, I'm not even awake." He was stiffening, edging away from her stroking hand. His lips parted for a soft moan. "Please…?"

She purred and nuzzled his neck. His own purr started up. It was a low-pitched demon purr; her cat purr was higher. But it all felt nice. They were close together, warm, rumbling with contentment.

His silver eyes fluttered open. A ragged sigh. Half eagerness, half nerves. Then he rubbed noses with her. "This again."

"You are soooooo cute."

She kissed him, nibbled his bottom lip. Her fingers crept to the tip of his dick. He flinched at the stroke. Gasped. Flinched again.

"What's wrong, dumbass?"

Caelyn was a challenge. If she went too fast, he ended up as a quivering mess, hiding his face.

She brushed him. He shied away.

She licked his neck and met his eyes, gold to silver. "Come on. I don't wanna hurt you. It's supposed to feel good."

"It does feel good." He blushed, closed his eyes and arched his back. Another wince. "Real sensitive sometimes. Not used t'being touched there."

She blinked, then slowly massaged his length. He shivered. He wasn't too long but very thick. "The fuck?"

"Not gently, anyway." He hesitantly kissed her cheek, then her neck. His scarred hands wrapped around her waist. Louder purring.

A thought occurred. "You ever had sex with another girl?"

"No." He yawned, nervous. "Y'gonna laugh."

"Hell no, that's the cutest shit ever. I never get to be peoples' first." It pleased her. She squeezed him and he gasped, and she stuck her tongue deep in his warm mouth. She stroked him with her fingertips and heard him moan against her lips. It gave her goosebumps, flushed and hardened her pert nipples.

That was what she liked. Caelyn was really on bottom. Even with those weird old dudes who wanted their asses beat while she wore black leather — or Defender Dweeb tied up with scarves — they were always waiting to be back on top.

But Caelyn wasn't. He watched her, blushing, unzip his pants and guide his cock out of his boxers. She slipped the white straps of her thong just below her taut white ass-cheeks. Then she adjusted herself so their quivering flesh met beneath her plaid skirt, her black high-heels hitched behind his slim ankles. The breath blew out of him.

Sometimes it felt dirtier with their clothes on. Secret.

_See. It'll feel good._

He shivered and nodded.

She was gentle. Her tight rosy lower parts slowly bloomed atop his upright cock. That let him feel her growing damp, then wet. Then soaked. And it gave him time to relax. Ease into her, spread her apart and find the hot, slick flesh waiting there.

He leaned his head back. A quiet, chirruping animal sound of pleasure.

She toyed with his red-gold hair, running her bright red fingernails through it, tracing the tips of his ears. She liked being gentle with him. Very few people had been.

His fingers crept to her lower lips, probing around where his cock was still sinking into her. He brushed her clit. Teasing her, but not trying to. He was terrified of hurting her.

She arched her back, took more of him in. The scars on his hands made the teasing feel nicer.

Then she watched his freckled face, stroking his ribs. Soothing him. He bit his lip, and his golden eyelashes swept together. He moaned quietly, then louder.

"Shhhh." She covered his mouth.

His lips opened behind her fingers. Panting._ But you're so tight. So wet._

Her face grew warmer. _Hush._

_It feels good._ Feeling good made him nervous. He squirmed, half-heartedly trying to escape it. He edged deeper into her. A ragged gasp. _Ahhh._

_Good. _She kissed him. _Relax and let me fuck you, stupid. Let it feel good. _

_Yes ma'am. _

That made her wet enough to drip.

More purring. His deep breaths. A slow, hot rhythm. Slipping all the way down to his base, giggling when he panted, writhed and tried to be quiet.

It wasn't just the sex. There was Caelyn being her childhood idol, on bottom, closest to her age. The Tigress and the Fox on the Wheel, chasing one another.

But it was also the cool stuff that happened after. Once, all their freckles had turned shimmering gold for a day. (They shared the same freckles down to the one on their ankles, but mirrored). They'd traded eye colors three or four times. Silver eyes made her look bad-ass and scared the shit out of Jayce.

(That's how Defense Dingo figured it out, anyway, when she and Caelyn smooched in front of him to trade eye colors back).

They consciousness-swapped, though Erinae didn't like that — Caelyn's body felt as broken-down as the Wheel looked.

And he looked so sad. Well, her own face did, in the shower steam-fogged mirror. _I forgot what being healthy felt like. _Then, when he looked at himself, he flinched and said _gracious, I truly am quite ugly, yes, quite. _

But this time —

They both froze. He was deep inside the slick wet heat, gazing at her, aching to come. Two suited men, coming for Daddy's office. Standing outside, talking to him about economics, a breath away. The Star-Children were in a little shadowed alcove.

She watched Caelyn's silver eyes darken at the sound of Daddy's voice. She whispered in his ear, her hot tongue flicking the inner freckled curve. He shuddered. "Don't make a fuckin' sound or they'll find us."

It was difficult. They didn't move. Caelyn throbbed and quivered inside her, his muscles taut beneath her body. Trying desperately not to moan. She was snuggling into his neck.

She wanted the other men to come over and watch, maybe say something dirty like _fuck the Falin boy until he comes on your face and tits_. Make Caelyn moan louder.

But they heard Demetrius suddenly laugh and say, "Perhaps you should join me inside."

The door closed. They both came.

Caelyn bit her neck. She bit his harder. Muffled moans. Shivering, shaking, purring. Whimpering.

Then she was blinking, shaking her head to clear it. "Holy shit. I thought I exploded."

"I'm — worried — about that." He panted, looking at the ceiling. "Trying to get better — in part — to enjoy this."

"You poor little thing." She kissed him hard. He liked being held and kissed afterward. They cuddled, purred together. They rearranged their clothes and slept. The Wheel was safe for the moment.

* * *

><p>She liked Caelyn because she could tell him anything. Even stuff she didn't want to tell Daddy. Because the other guys wanted <em>to do something about it <em>but he just listened.

She took his hand and led him through the Noxian palace. It was as rich and grand as the dream castle, but darker. "Last night I was snuggling against Graves. Cowboy Dip-Bob." All the Doves snuggled with pretty much anyone available.

"Mhm?"

"And he suddenly turns to me real angry like and says _If I catch y'anywhere near my fuckin' dick I'll break your jaw._"

Caelyn stared, then pulled her close. "I'm very sorry."

"But then he was all nice. Saying weird shit like _I shouldn't look at you the way they do, it ain't your fault _and _Damn it, Catgirl, I ain't gonna hurt you_."

"Maybe you remind him of someone." Caelyn hesitated, then nuzzled her forehead and kissed her temple. She was pleased. He wasn't hiding. "Now that you're getting older."

All the Willow-Doves and Daddy in a cushy waiting room on the second floor. Reading, studying, napping on the soft couches, a light blue rain falling, the stained-glass windows of deer and elk sparkling.

Daddy helped the Willow-Doves with their home-schoolwork, and Ezreal's son Everett was snuggled against Daddy's side, practicing handwriting.

The half-animals settled beside him on the long blue sofa, textbooks in hand. Erin worried about Jayce. Daddy gently tapped the blue bruises on Caelyn's neck and sighed, "I suppose I see Sir Jayce's point."

Caelyn looked away to hide his disappointment. "Aye, Master. Of course. I shouldn't get rid of my few allies."

"Wait, what? What in the fuck?" Erinae snapped her _Techamaturgy II _book closed. She was studying to impress Defense Dingbat. Jayce was still surprised she could do basic math, which pissed her off. She didn't know why.

"We should probably stop — you know." Caelyn coughed.

"Um. No?" Erinae squinted. "Unless Daddy says so."

Caelyn bit his lip, then blurted "I've just — I've never had a pretty girl like me before. Not ever in my life." The Doves all whispered.

"Yeh! Exactly! Plus it's good for your nerves and shit! Ain't that right, Daddy?"

Demetrius coughed into his sleeve, trying to hide his smile. "I think so. But Sir Jayce has a different, equally valid opinion."

Erinae's canines flashed. "Oh, hell no. I starved myself for three months, living off free coffee creamer to buy my own ass. I'm sure as fuck not letting some tall-ass dark-ass-haired dude tell me what to do. Again. Unless it's you." She punched Daddy in the shoulder. He choked on his raspberry iced tea. "Sorry."

"It's alright, dearheart. You're entirely free, even from my control." He nodded and glanced at Caelyn. "I did warn him."

She snuggled in between Daddy, Foxboy and Everett for a good two hours, copying the glossary of her textbook. Caelyn murmured classic Noxian poems to himself.

Then the Defiant Dunce returned, glanced at Caelyn (who hid), and took her hand. He looked tired and sweaty — his tie rumpled — and knelt before her. She thought he was gonna put his head in her lap. But he took her hand, looked up at her, and said, "I'd like to invite you on the next stage of my life together."

"Like a roadtrip?"

"No. To marry me."

_So he can tell my ass what to do. _"Oh, hell no. _Hell _no."

They stared at each other. Then Jayce gritted his teeth and said, "You're his reflection. Right? _They_'_re _married."

"I told you to wait," Demetrius said. He looked out the window and sighed. All the Doves were grabbing at one another, nervous. "I waited. I did."

"And I know her enough to know that she's going to say —"

"Hell no? Because that's what I just fuckin' said." When Jayce gaped up at her, she slapped him. Not hard, but enough. Then she got up and ran out of the room. _Hell no, hell no, hell no._

Then the bar with that nosy black guy, then Riveria's men trying to kidnap her again, then the fire, then the argument in front of everyone, then Malcolm Graves still feeling bad.

And now this hotel room, on Cowboy Dipstick's chest, with huge hands on her back. She nuzzled his beard, feeling tired and restless in the early morning light.

_Having a good time. Never enough for some people, is it? _

The Wheel turned.

* * *

><p><em> The Present<em>

_ Some people are just nice. _Senna shrugged in his mind. He eyed the Ionian temple banquet uneasily. _It's not poisoned. It's not._

_ They hate us because we're black. _

_ But people have manners. Sometimes, anyway. _

He thought of this as he took a seat across from Graves and that girl, dug into his exotic golden fruit. Wealthy businessmen and high-class whores laughed and giggled around them in the crimson-draped dining room.

The night was not good. He thought he could see Senna at the foot of his bed, brushing her long black hair. He itched to touch it again. But when she looked at him, she had no eyes.

Graves took a sip of orange juice. "Did some hardcore thinking last night. Know that's hard to believe from a rough-ass like me."

"Oh yeah?" _I did too, _Lucian thought. _Didn't want to. _

"You got something against undead people. Makes sense." Graves ignored Erinae's scowl. "They're pretty fuckin' creepy."

"Uh huh. People are meant to die."

"Maybe. But you know what?" Graves looked at him. "When you pulled your guns on Foxboy, you should've pulled them on Lux, too."

Lucian covered his startle with a giant gulp of sparkling apple water. "Oh, yeah? What happened?"

"She's died, hell, I don't even know anymore. At least three, four times. Killed herself on one of them. Don't blame her — I shouldn't say that shit. Sorry, Catgirl."

"I don't give a shit." Catgirl's scowl was darker than the shadows in a graveyard.

"Then how's she still here? I mean, yeah, she's a mage, I get that. But — damn."

"Ezreal and King Ryland the Second. Those kids have some willpower. Best way to put it." Graves chewed his eggs. "Lots of other things, too, but lots and lots of willpower."

That gave him a nasty chill, right where his groin met his stomach. He hadn't even thought to look at Lux.

Often pulling people back from death left trails, markers. Sometimes the veins in their wrists were black. They were missing ears, noses, fingers, hands. But what little he'd seen of Lux, she looked fine. Just fine.

He was creeped out, but that little piece of Senna — she was interested. Of course.

Not because she wanted to be back. That was wrong. But —

He shuddered and shook his head. "Yeah, no. I'm getting out of here."

"At least talk to the Ultimate Goodness first. Might never get another chance." Graves yawned. "He's a good kid, too. They're all good kids." He put a hand on Erinae's head. She snapped at him.

_This is weird. _

_ If it's not weird, _Senna retorted. _We're doing something wrong. _

_Fair enough._ "Alright. But after that, I'm out. I can't do it."

"This place grows on you." Graves shrugged.

"I bet it does. One hell of a place for a Purifier to get stuck in."

"Purifier," the girl muttered. She rolled her eyes. "My ass."

"Guess you don't believe in purification, huh?" _It'd take a lot to work through you, _he thought but couldn't quite say. He wanted to take her hand. To save someone. _But that's not your fault, and I know we could do it. You'd be healed. _

She wasn't interested. "Guess I'll be seein' both of us in hell. All of us." She was in a shitty mood. Lucian decided not to trouble her.

* * *

><p>He itched to leave. Noxus during the day was worse. They passed someone leading their kid on a leash. Erinae patted him and told him to <em>be a good boy and maybe they'll take you offa it.<em>

And the parents nodded.

_Oh, man. _Graves was watching his face again. "I guess I'm handsome, huh."

"Ha. Noxus hasn't grown on me that much. I was just thinking — I don't know. Catgirl talks out her ass a lot, but —"

"I did everything I could." He sounded sure.

He sounded like he hadn't spent six months in a cathedral basement, drinking and playing the same Piltover record. That was what he was most ashamed of.

For their second anniversary, she recorded herself singing. _Peace, Lift Your Banner _and a few other Demacian classics. Her voice was high and clear as a mountain spring.

One he'd never heard:

_Somewhere, beyond the sea —_

_Somewhere waiting for me —_

_My lover stands on golden sands…_

Lastly, Senna laughing and saying, "You're gonna hate me for this."

He remembered his gritted teeth, the red burning itching eyes, the untouched plates of food brought by the curious monks, instructed by the abbot leader to _leave the man alone. He's cleansing himself. _

"But I know you'll secretly love it." She cleared her throat. "Lucian. Love. It's alright. It's going to be alright. So when you listen to this — just know it's okay, alright? Everything is. I know you always want me to say that…don't really know why…or maybe I do."

Six months of that. Hanging on every syllable. The pauses, where she took a breath.

Played it until he hated it.

Then he declared himself purified before the monks, broke the record and sobbed for a week.

In the present, in Noxus, his fists were clenched, fingernails digging into the pale meat of his palms. Little red jewels welled beneath them. Graves still studying him carefully.

The air was too thick.

"What?" he snapped.

"Just thinking. I never want to. Sometimes I gotta." He sighed and looked at Catgirl.

"Oh, what, you in love with her too?"

Erinae whirled, angry. Then looked horrified. A realization. "What the fuck you mean I look like your wife, Cow-Bob?"

Graves spat. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Any of that."

Lucian knew it was wrong to say. Wrong to think or feel, and still —

_Hell. She said not to clam up._

"Noxus grows on you, am I right? I see how she can, too."

That made the Outlaw mad. The anger lines on his face were etched deep. "No, damn it. I've just got a thing for tryin' to help people now because 'Raka said it's a good thing. Given she's made the trip back from the dead _too _—" Lucian gagged. " — made the effort to come talk to my ugly ass, thought I'd listen to her. Try to help. And let's be fuckin' honest here, you look half-dead your goddamned self."

That startled him.

Graves snarled. "You don't wanna hear that one, Purifier. Lookin' like your headin' into the cold and dark soon, anyw —"

"Stop!" He roared, grabbed Malcolm Graves by the shoulders, and shook him. The citizens of Noxus whirled. He almost shouted _Don't say that shit! Tell me it's alright!_

He stopped the sob by stomping down on it. Malcolm had him by the wrists, slowly lowered them and forced them to his side. He looked Lucian from head to toe. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>"I'm surprised you don't need an appointment for this. To meet with the good old U.G. He's got a nice waiting room, though." He was trying to joke, feeling tired, empty, burned. He heard Senna sigh inside of him. <em>That was shitty. <em>

Graves had disappeared inside the high chamber. Catgirl was on the other side of the black sofa, obviously trying not to cry. "Man, what in the _fuck_. I like Cowboy. Not my fault I look like hisstupid dead wife now."

_At least someone's having a worse day than me, _he thought bitterly, looked at the scratches on his hands and forearms, and sighed. "I'm sorry for being rude."

"You can be rude. You're fucking sad over_ your_ stupid-ass dead-ass wife too. It's alright. I don't give a fuckin' shit and a half." She sniffled. "Hell no I don't want to marry Defender Pants. I'll just die and he'll walk around, carry a gun and be rude to everyone. Holy fucking shit."

"You all just don't give a fuck in Noxus. About death, or pedophilia, or anything. This entire place reeks of sin."

"Yeh? You reek of failure, yes, quite. You reek of lost opportunity, heartache, and sorrow."

"What's with the accent change?"

She said nothing.

"Daddy tell you to fix it?"

"No. Shut the fuck up," she whispered, then buried her face in her hands and shuddered.

The undead demon boy appeared in the doorway, saw Lucian's steely glare, hesitated, then cursed and ran past him. Picked Catgirl up in his arms and spirited her away.

"Man, how can you let something like that touch you?" He shuddered, gagged. The thought made him ill.

"I agree."

He looked up. Ezreal was standing in the doorway now — though Lucian had to do a double-take. Something weird about him, the shape of his body. It made him look like Foxboy.

He was in a black t-shirt, of course. Noxus.

The second and third thoughts were even stranger. _He looks like a lone hawk _and _he looks wounded. _

He settled on the couch across from Lucian, looked up at the high vaulted ceiling. "Guess I should take a number. Do you miss the League?"

"I can't tell."

"I feel the same way."

Lucian cleared his throat. "Congrats on the baby. I haven't heard too much of, you know, whatever the fuck is happening." He felt a dry fever coming on. His temples throbbed.

"I feel that way, too. No one tells me anything but things I don't want to hear." Ezreal leaned forward. Those blue eyes were a lot darker than Lucian remembered, more angry ocean than cute nerdy historian. "For instance, my son — aged around two, with the mental capacity of a fifteen year old — has declared himself a Willow-Dove."

The Noxus in his voice spooked Lucian too. _Aged. Age – ed. Duhve _was _Dohve_. "I'm sorry. I have no idea what that means."

"He's intent on being King Ryland's slave. Sold himself into slavery."

"Oh." Lucian rubbed his eyes. "Man, what in the fuck."

"Yeah. And —" Ezreal hesitated. He was lonely, though, had no one else to talk to. Everett was constantly with Sir Creepy, Lux was depressed. Ryland was busy. Everyone else was torn between treating Ezreal as a Dove and a Destroyer. It was Ryland's suggestion that he see Aven about the state of the Wheel. Or for company. Desperation. "Lux — probably too much information — told me I should've let her stay dead. You know. That's great to hear from your girlfriend."

Lucian stared. _I did what I —_

_ That's bullshit. That's some bullshit. _

He cleared his throat. "Lux was supposed to die, huh."

"Yeah. A few times. My dad's a real asshole. Or he was." Ezreal ran a hand through his golden hair.

"He didn't come back too? Surprising. Real surprising."

"We're all monumentally fucked if he ever does."

"So you just didn't want Lux to die, and she didn't."

"No, no, she did. Ryland saved her the first two times because I asked him to."

"So she was dead."

"Oh, yeah, being ferried over by her Saints and everything."

Lucian's eyebrows rose. "Battle Saints are real?" It was surprisingly comforting in the midst of this shitstorm.

"Well, they were. We killed them. Again." Ezreal shrugged once more.

_If I had any hair, I would tear it out. All of it. Right now. _"That's — you're not supposed to do shit like that, man."

_That's what your belief system boils down to, _Senna said. _"Don't do that shit, man." _

Ezreal's eyes grew distant. "Aye. That's probably why the Wheel's a bit fucked at the moment. But we're fixing that too. Some of us."

"You're still not supposed to do that."

"Not supposed to fix the Wheel?" Ezreal's lips quirked. "Now you sound like Lux."

_I don't give a single fuck about this stupid Wheel thing_. "I mean like kill the Saints. Bring people back from the dead."

"Ha." Ezreal snorted. He looked irritated, tired. "If you think I'm going to let something take Lux from me when it's not justified, you're wrong. If it were old age, or — yeah, no, that's about it."

"That's the only acceptable terms for death." _Because you decided them? Because you think you can decide them? _

"Aye. Everything else is preventable or fixable." Ezreal cocked his head. "You ask some pretty strange questions. And weren't you born in —"

"Demacia. Aye. I mean, yes." _Man, what in the fuck —_

_ I did everything I —_

_ That's bullshit, and you know —_

_ I could. I tried to save her. I didn't freeze up and gape and wait for her to tell me it was okay. _

His hands were balled at his temples. He was shaking. He looked up at Ezreal, whose handsome features were set in something that looked like compassion. "I — the League shut down, and now I'm having some sort of breakdown. I don't understand."

"What's it like? I've been studying psychology in my free time, to try and help Lux. Accept my son." _Psy — coh — loh — gee_.

_I hate the Noxian accent. _"I — my wife is dead."

"I see. That sucks."

_That sucks, he says. _"Yeah, I reckon it does. But I mourned her, you see, and I prayed and —"

"Purified yourself?" Ezreal leaned forward and cocked his head.

"Aye. Yes."

"That doesn't work on most people."

"The fuck it doesn't," he snapped. "Maybe not in this hellhole." There was a small smile on Ezreal's face. That smile seemed to say _you didn't really try. How can you say you tried when there's a fuck-ton of people wandering this castle — right now — who were dead and are now fine. _All the fucking Noxians had that smile. Like life was some huge joke he wasn't in on."It's — it's wrong to bring them back."

"If you say so. I guess it wouldn't be the wrongest thing I've ever done." Ezreal looked away.

"Aren't they — you said Lux said she wanted to be dead, right? She knows it's natural." _And she's a Demacian princess stuck here. Christ. I'd kill myself again._

_ What are you waiting for, anyway? _Senna whispered. He shut her out with an inner snarl.

"It's just post-partum depression. Loneliness. She doesn't agree with Everett, but we both agreed we'd love him unconditionally." Ezreal cracked his knuckles. "She's terrified of death. Especially now that we don't know where we go."

_Now this is what I'm talking about, _Senna whispered.

_Bitch, are you crazy? _

"You don't know where we go. You did and now you don't."

"Well. Let's just say things are a bit mixed up." Ezreal smiled. "Soraka's fine. A bit cranky, but fine. Oliver dar Regale returned from death in better mental health."

_Who? Who in the fuck? _He was sweating. Temples throbbing. His throat felt like a dead cactus."How many?"

"If you'd like to count me and Ryland, and Everett and Morning Glory…" Ezreal counted on his hands. "About eight. Nine."

"That's insane. And you all are just, you know —" he gestured vaguely and tried to bite back his tears. "Living. Fine."

"Aye, for the most part. Caelyn Fagboy was the worst, but he was also dead for three years. Had major withdrawal from cock, from what I understand. Was tormented."

"Good. He fucking deserves it."

"By the Demacian Battle Saints," Ezreal added, and yawned. "How long has Senna been gone?"

_Fucking mind readers. They don't actually know shit about me. _"Two years. I think. I joined the League six months after it happened."

"More or less. It'd be a piece of cake getting her back."

Lucian was silent. Ezreal lifted his eyebrows.

"I mean — I'm just saying."

"It's wrong," he said, but the words tasted like bitter ash, bitter herbs, lonely nights, cigar butts, the stale food at Brightbridge Academy. Long periods of silence spent reading his prayer books. Tasted like the singed air of Demacia. "She's trapped. The Warden's got her."

"Thresh? Please." He was thinking of slaughtering Thresh on the Rift. "We saved Lux from the top of the very middle of the Demacian afterlife."

"Uh – huh. And blew it up, right?"

"Yep. I think Pilts just float between worlds…" Ezreal closed his eyes. "The Wheel turns."

"Whatever you say, Captain." The doors to Ultimate Goodness' office were opening. Lucian had to go.

_I love you, babe. _

Lucian ignored her voice. But it was hard.


	7. The Third Time (Windows & Thread II)

_N.B. Dear readers — gonna try to wrap this up in 6-7 shortish chapters. I've been trying to keep them under 3K (are you proud of me?) At any rate I hope you like it. _

_Shoutout to MofasaCat. I need to message them sometime, good lord. (And all my followers. Thank you, darlin'). _

_My Willow-Dove needs to stop sending me inappropriate pictures, though they're hilarious and often well-timed. (Stop it. You heard me. Alright, not really). _

_Someone asked about the state of the novel. Well, the main bulk (at 240K, more or less) is done, but I need to add a few sections, delete some wordiness, figure out exposition and so on. _

_I wrote 270K in exactly four months. I'm sure none of you are surprised. _

_I'm gonna do the self-publish online thing. Hell, I'm young. I get to fuck around with my life a little bit. I'll let you all know. If you're interested, of course. _

_Ta – aikah._

* * *

><p><em>The Third Time She Saved His Life: <em>

It was disturbingly literal.

They were in a gloomy temple, high on a foggy cliff — maybe their third, fourth mission.

He was faster and sharper with a gun than she was. Took out thirty succubae to her six. She was proud — the clap on the shoulder was more reward than knowing the temple was safe, that darkness was vanquished.

He slept deeply on the hard stone. Senna lent him her jacket and insisted he take it, that she wasn't cold.

He awoke to Senna's scream. She was pistol-whipping the starving silver-eyed demon. It was crouched over him. He felt a brush of many-razored teeth on his skin, groped for his gun.

But she had already ripped the life-force vampire away, hurled it to the ground, and filled its misshapen freckled face with electro bolts. An animal shriek. Sad whimpering.

_Fwip. _Each bolt illuminated her serious face like desert lightning. _Fwipfwipfwipfwip. _Its corpse shriveled to a gray mountain-coyote's body.

The temple went dark again. Only the moody summer-storm glow left over from her heated gun.

And something else. "Babe?" Her voice was soft. "It's alright."

"No — no, I know it is. Senna, thank you. Thank you, thank you, I —" He laughed, shaky.

"No. Look at your hand."

"Hmmm?" He was hesitant to. He bet the demon had ripped it off. Just when things were getting good.

But it was glowing, like the gun. A soft white holy glow.

She looked at him, awed. "That purification shit's real. For you, anyway. No wonder I got to you in time. Your aura stopped it."

"You can have it too." He took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. He'd save her.

"Nah. I can't."

"Why?" He was quiet, but his forehead and face thudded with adrenaline.

"I left someone behind. Besides my parents." She blew out a sigh, then scooted close to him, beneath his glow. "I'm a shitty person."

"I doubt that. I love you."

"Mmmm. I love you, too." She kissed his temple, then his lips. No sex — she still respected his wish to keep it to twice a week.

Before he'd break that. Before he'd beg for her body in the Shadow Isles and condemn her —

Her face, bathed in the glow. His personal loving angel. She was real, from her soft fingertips to her perfect feet.

* * *

><p><em>The Present <em>

Clean. Colorful. The springtide light poured in through the stained glass windows, great white currents of light. It painted the gray stone with indigo and auburn. It soaked the floor with glittering blue.

In the center of the chamber sat a small blonde boy and a smaller, mist-white fawn. And behind them was a tall tree, growing from the rocks. It had bright silver branches hung with scarlet paper lanterns. A myth-tree.

_Fuck you, Malcolm Graves. Expect the unexpected? Not what I expect? This is exactly what I expected. _

The boy opened his shiny green eyes. Lucian fell to his knees.

_Now _that's _holy. _

"And who is this that lies prostate before me?"

"I believe the word is _prostrate,_" Ezreal said, looking at his fingernails.

"Prostrate. M'apologies. Ezrill — if y'come to accompany him, you're free t'go."

Ezreal looked at the vaulted ceiling. Counting to soothe his temper. Lucian was used to counting, himself.

And just like Lucian, it didn't really work.

Ezreal said, "So. You just allow your child to remain in her animal form?"

The boy cocked his head. "Y'allowin' y'son to stay on as a Willow-Dove, are you not?"

Silence. When Lucian looked up, the white fawn was standing over him. She licked his forehead.

It made him feel better. Whether it was intended as baptism or not.

Lucian cleared his throat. "Your holiness —"

"You may call me Aven." He cocked his head. "Save the holiness nonsense f'my brother."

Behind Lucian, Ezreal rolled his eyes.

"I come to you humbly, seeking guidance in a world torn by evil, filled to the brim with sin."

Aven's pale eyebrows rose. The fawn retreated to his arms, snuggling there. "Goodness. Go on."

"This world — none of us understand it. It's dark. It's a hateful place." He waited for Aven to agree, like any Goodness certainly would.

"I rather like it," Aven said softly, tracing the tips of his fawn's ears. "I'd have t'be a bit fond of the Wheel at this point, or we'd all be dead."

"Well." Lucian coughed. "I mean, there's parts of it."

"No, no. If you think it be a hateful place, y'allowed t'think that." Aven cocked his head the other way. "If y'want guidance without me reading y'whole mind, I need t'know a bit more."

"Noxus itself." The glittery green eyes were soothing his heart. Sort of like Senna's had eased his heartburn and stomachache. "It's — dark. Hard to understand."

"I see. Noxus can be a wee bit challengin'."

Something about his voice made Lucian blurt, "Then why are you here? Why Noxus? Why not somewhere — I don't know. Safe. Holy. Why not a mountaintop?"

He watched as Aven's shapely cheeks turned pink. "Well, ah, me and t'King — you know."

Lucian blinked.

"The King of Noxus," Ezreal clarified. "My best friend. They've got a thing."

Aven coughed. "It be not carnal."

Ezreal shrugged.

"'Gardless." Aven grew flustered. "What's t'problem?"

"My wife — I —" He'd meant to pray more, for guidance on what to say. "She's gone."

"And you're trying t'get her back."

"No? That's wrong."

Aven leaned forward. "Interestin' word. _Wrong_."

"It's wrong," Lucian said again. His lips were numb and cold.

"Pfft. Everything be situational. Sometimes the greatest evil wrought just needs you to shift your gaze."

"We're listening." Ezreal cocked his head opposite his brother. Lucian was positive it was subconscious.

"Listening." His throat grew colder, number even than his lips. _They want me to tell them. Oh, no. Oh, baby, I can't close my eyes. _

"Aye. 'Least someone is listening, right?"

* * *

><p>LUCIAN:<p>

For the longest time, Senna was my Ultimate Goodness. It's wrong, and I admit that, but I worshipped her. She drew the light wherever we went. She left a trail scented with jasmine. And I adored her with my heart, soul, and inner flame.

Under her regard, I grew arrogant. She was my goddess who chose me as her knight, her ensign. And when she said I could do anything, I believed her. I forgot I was mortal. Forgot she was mortal.

So my glowing goddess and I journeyed to the darkest place — a grove of shadows, serving no purpose but evil — and strove to clean it. To let Your light invade, your Holiness. Aven. Burn, cleanse.

And it went well. I wielded the light righteously. So did my goddess. The shadows burned with a sound like crackling paper, over and over again. I watched her eyes at night, their excitement. Her touch.

But one evil watched us with — I believe it was envy. I do have sympathy for the creatures of the night. No, I promise I do.

But we were too flagrant — a lapse of considered judgment — use plain Demacian? Hiding behind fancy language? Uh. Alright.

He took her. The Warden. We were wrapped in cold ribbons of mist that froze our joints and turned our skin blue, purple. Couldn't move. I couldn't move.

He took her — I watched him touch the bright red lantern to her bare shoulder. She screamed. No, she wasn't wearing a shirt — or was she? I, uh, might be remembering it wrong.

Anyway. I had this glow, and it saved me. But not her. Fuck, that's so fucking stupid sounding, fuck, fuck — sorry, I —

No, listen. I put up a good fight against the Warden while he took her. I raised my gun and emptied a clip into his face. No, I didn't.

Wait. I didn't mean to say that. Yes I did. I shot him.

He took her. He sucked her soul out of her body, and I swear on the angels watching my dad's gold watch melt to his skin in the housefire was easier. I closed my eyes for that one, but not — not for this. I tried to save her, uh.

She went limp. Didn't scream.

I — I fucking stood there. I could move. I could. I know because I ran like a bitch.

No, no, no, fuck. I grabbed her. My fingers brushed hers and the mud. Both cold and slimy. I emptied my clip and hers into the Warden's face. Stood my ground. Fought him. Then we —

I said I ran? No, I didn't — I didn't run. I fought him. I ran — no. I took her in my arms the way she took me in her arms when I had a nightmare. No, I didn't. I don't lie. I _saved _her. She glowed too. I love her. No, I didn't run — yes. She was dark but I worshipped her, I —

* * *

><p>He was gasping, choking, his tongue coated with grit. Dipped in it.<p>

He didn't realize the strong hand on his back was Ezreal's. Aven was kneeling before him, rubbing Lucian's throat. The white fawn was lapping at his chin.

Aven's green eyes filled Lucian's vision like a tropical emerald-tinted forest. "Y'wife."

"Yes," he whispered.

"She fell and you didn't save her," Ezreal said. His voice was calm and flat. "You can argue with yourself all you want, and make shit up like fake memories, but that's what happened. Don't deny it. Denial gets you nowhere."

Ezreal sounded like he knew. The white rage — righteous, pure — faded.

"Yes." Lucian's voice was inaudible. He tried again. "Yes, that's what happened."

"And y'goin t'get her back." Aven sounded sure.

"She's dead."

"Did y'bury her?"

"N – no, but — her soul. It's gone."

"Not gone. Misplaced." Aven clicked his tongue. Spoke to the white fawn in a high chirpy language. It bounded off.

A minute later, a little blonde boy in a black waistcoat, with a silver Willow-Dove pin on his chest, appeared with a pitcher of water and shining crystal glasses. He poured a glass for Lucian, one for Aven, one for the fawn. Ezreal hesitated to take his, then cleared his throat and said "Thank you."

"Of course, sir."

Aven _hmph_ed. "Two years old? Looks eight."

"Your daughter looks ten when she's not a deer." Ezreal pulled the boy into his lap, kissed his temple. The warm smile — that was love.

Lucian turned away.

Aven chugged his glass, then tapped it. "I see. So it's obvious. Y'came to me in hopes of regaining her."

"No. I'm — that's wrong, isn't it? Bringing her back?"

"Y'gonna tell the Lightbringer himself it's wrong. What's wrong is leavin' her sorry ass. Look."

Lucian watched the floor flood with the colors of the cosmos. Celestial lights. He stumbled to his feet.

"Oh, don't worry. Y'won't fall off." Aven bit his thumbnail. "We are here." He tapped a toe to a glittery bright ball. Lucian was vaguely surprised it wasn't the center of the Wheel. Then figured that was how humans always felt. "Y'wife — real pretty name. I like it. Was she Demacian by birth?"

"Yes."

"Religious? Angels, praying, all that?"

"Not — not when he took her."

"I mean ever, any point of her life." Aven's gaze grew brighter.

Lucian licked his lips. _So. It counts for something._ He remembered a faded photograph of her in a blue school uniform. A chain of golden prayer beads. He still had them, purification be damned.

"Yes."

But Aven bit his lip. "Unfortunate."

"What — ?"

"Oh, not her fault." The Lightbringer glanced at Ezreal, who was tracing the crisp lines of his son's waistcoat. Everett was leaning into him with sleepy blue eyes.

"Guess that's one thing decent about the Doves." Ezreal rested a cheek on Everett's golden-haired head. "You all've got to let people touch you. I get to hug you now."

"Of course. It's part of our duty, to be companions."

"I thought you hated being touched." Ezreal yawned.

Everett yawned identically. "It's part of my duty. I'm also coming around to it. General Falin suggested that my developing nerves were simply overstimulated."

Ezreal bit his tongue. "You know we won't judge you if you change your mind back."

"Aye."

"Alright. We won't make fun of you."

"Aye, I know."

Aven shook his head and pointed. "Lookathere."

Lucian looked and gagged.

The Southern World was swollen, bloated, red, purple, crimson and black. A bruise. Worst of all, it was missing the sturdy silver connecting spoke. Instead, a frayed red-gold braid flapped against the starry black, like a loose sail. The entire globe looked loose. Fragile.

Hurting.

"She's there?"

"Prob'ly."

"And not in the Warden's lantern?"

But Aven was flapping his hand. "Those things only eat y'life force. The rest of you — off into the Wheel. Grand, ain't it?"

"But —"

"So, y'goin' soon. Gettin' Malcolm to go should be easy."

_What? _

"Same with Erinae the Half-Cat. Might end up with Jayce, not sure. The real trick's gettin' Foxboy to go."

"What? No. Hell no. I don't need him. I don't want him anywhere near me."

"Uh huh. Y'see that?" Aven traced the frayed red-gold rope. "Y'don't take him with Erinae and y'gonna get about ten hot seconds with y'wife before that world breaks off and crashes into a sun." He paused. "Ah, I know the Rejects try their damndest. But it's still s'goddamned tacky-lookin'."

"I agree with you. On that, anyway." Ezreal was holding his son tight.

"At any rate. Caelyn can't go without permission. So don't worry about convincing him. You'll have to convince —"

"Daddy." Lucian's voice was bleak.

Aven blinked. "Y'call him that, too? Ms. Katarina du Couteau does. Some of the Doves. Children of Generals. I tried to, and he said _I'd prefer if the father of all creation not call me that, as it's quite presumptuous._" Another pause. "Demetrius be a little bit weird."

"Oh, yeah?" Lucian rubbed his eyes. "Would never guess. After I convince all them, I come back —"

"And talk to me. Aye, of course." Aven's smile was brilliant. The fawn licked his hand. "I love me some visitors."


	8. Out

_N.B. Hey readers. I'm looking forward to the next chapter. Going old school vOceanic — might be long as fuck._

_ This was gonna be 3K but the lemon was a bit long. Still counts, right? Haha. _

_ Did I thank you guys yet?_

_**Skip pagebreak 2 – 3 for disturbing discussion**__. It weirded me out a little. You all are probably tougher. _

_ I — I dunno, man. Sometimes I worry about how much I'm working things out, and how much is actually for you guys. _

_**Lemon pagebreak 6 — end. **_

* * *

><p><em>What's she going to say to me? <em>

He hoped it would be a smile.

He'd already made up his mind, though. He'd tell her _it's alright _for once. Not the other way around.

He hoped it was a smile, but a bitch-slap was both more likely and more fitting. And a loud _where the FUCK you been, prayer-boy?! _

_So it wasn't wrong to get her? I've just been — fucking around? Holy hell._

What hurt most — she wouldn't be surprised.

He passed Luxanna in the hallway, in a dark blue _for Noxus_-looking dress. Like royalty. She smiled.

_She does have it. The undead haze. A little mist in her eyes. _

Would Senna have it? He'd still love those brown eyes, no matter how foggy.

Right?

* * *

><p>The acoustics in the Noxian Palace were amazing. He heard, "I'm still not marrying you, man. Holy apples and pear trees." Catgirl sounded tired.<p>

So did Jayce. Exhausted. "Alright. Alright. I get it. I'll come see you later."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Alright. I love you."

"Blow it out your own ass."

"Alright." Jayce appeared at the end of the long, long hallway. A guilty glance tossed over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

_Oh, boy, _Lucian thought, and started walking.

"Lord. That was the most exhausting conversation I've ever had and I didn't speak a word." Demetrius' voice.

"Slavery's so much easier." Caelyn yawned. "Submission."

_Oh, man, _Lucian thought.

"Heh. Says you, Fuckboy. You'd be singing different if you'd rolled Riveria as Sir."

"I know you had Riveria eating out of the palm of your hand. Just too young t'know it. We all know you ran that place."

A girlier voice: "Oh, quit it. Don't flatter me. Eheheheh."

A laughing note. "You're terrifying when you flirt. See?"

"You're just a fuckin' pansy."

Demetrius coughed. "I believe slavery's evil, by the bye."

"Pardon me, Master. You're right." Warm affection. "Voluntary servitude."

_For fuck's sake. _Lucian walked faster.

"Besides, Erin. What about General Degardo?"

"What about Degardo?"

"He almost owned y'. Not too bad."

"He fucked you? The bastard was s'posed t'be my regular. Brought me Ionian cookies and hot tea."

A fake yawn. "Not my choice. Willow-Dove before General, remember."

_Please. _Lucian wasn't sure what he was praying for.

A little nervous edge to that voice now. "Of course I told you what happened during the Great Burning."

"Yeh? Y'burned shit."

"Aye." Shakiness. "And the Noxian Captains gave new meaning to the word _rape _as we roamed across the Demacian countryside. I — sorry, Sir."

Demetrius, calm: "If you need to discuss it, I'll be here. As I always am."

Erin sounded appalled. "Nah. You never said shit."

"E – e - every night. Compared me to you a lot. _Falin Boy and Erin the Riv_. Said I had the same skills but a lot less enthusiasm." Caelyn coughed. "Apparently I scream louder."

"Jeez. I dunno if that's a fuckin' compliment or not."

_Fuck, man. _Lucian had a stitch in his side. He upped his pace. _This castle's huge._

"Broke my fingers. Didn't matter. Hands were ugly. Boots on his throat in the morning. _Get up, boy._" Shaky breaths. Imitating a deep voice. "_Get up. Get up before we rip his limbs off and make you eat them. Set the stupid Doves on fire. _Snap my spine like a toothpick if I turned fox. H – hurt. Hurt him.

A - and they'd tie him down every night to a horse hitching post. Make the Falin Boy come in front of all them. Huge circle. Boots on his ribs. His cock was so chapped it bled. They used the cold grease from the cooking fire. Burned, itched. I felt bad for him.

And if they couldn't make him — you know — they heated up a branding iron, said _Master can love your hands, but if your face is f – f – fucked…Y'lose y'eyes if y'don't burn enough and be a good boy for us._ Stick it in the sand beside him. Feel the heat on his cheeks. He loved his country. Adored his country. But big hands all over him.

He had t'think of Master fucking Luxanna, usually. Blindfolded, bent over the rosewood stool in the washroom, her tied to it with his black _Carnitori _ties, back arched, on her tiptoes. Him playing with her long golden hair while she sucked him off. Cupping her chin while she moaned. Making him feel good was the best part." Caelyn sighed. "Then spreading her lower parts apart. Her strugglin' a bit. Not too much, not because she didn't like it. She liked it. But because he's so huge. Sir wouldn't hurt her. Of course not."

_And this kid's going to help me, _Lucian thought. He felt desperate. The end of the hallway seemed to recede._ Like I want this sociopath near Senna. Riiiiiiiight._

Demetrius murmured, "I have no hope of ever understanding his fascination with Luxanna."

Caelyn: "Master, she's a _princess_. She's beautiful."

Demetrius sighed hard.

Erinae: "Uh, Foxy. They tied _him_ down? Or you?"

Caelyn: "Hm?"

Demetrius: "He disassociates from it at times. Becomes a spectator, you know, splits into two. Everyone copes a bit differently."

Erinae: "Oh. I've heard of that shit."

Caelyn: "But they were nicer if we didn't struggle, and I — I purred and moaned with the nicer ones so they didn't hurt him s'much. Sorry, Master."

"It's quite alright."

"Yeh. I've totally done that shit before with dudes being asses." Erinae was unfazed. "Batted my eyelashes. _Quit choking me so hard and I'll act real cute._"

A surprised laugh. "So you understand."

"Yeh? Reflection shit. One guy wanted to beat the shit out of me hardcore so I started acting like a cat. Purring and rolling around like an idiot. Ended up buying me dinner instead."

_Sweet Saint Sarturo. _Lucian wanted to run.

Caelyn: "C - Couldn't stop crying. Couldn't walk. Turned fox for three weeks. Hid." A small gasp. "Thought we'd never change back."

Demetrius: "Which I was prepared to accept. I built you a nest in the sock drawer."

Erin giggled. "That's fuckin' cute as shit." Sounded like she was purring. Sympathy purr, probably. Lucian had read somewhere cats did that.

"Oh, aye. Seeing the little black whiskers peep out of the dresser was rather charming."

Caelyn laughed, but his voice broke a bit. "The worst part. Worse than rape. Couldn't be a Dove. Crying too hard to clean and cook. Shook too much to hang up the wash. Had to leave him alone. Felt so guilty for leaving him alone. To leave him. Had to leave if he couldn't be a Willow-Dove. Made Sir sad to look at him. C – couldn't have a broken Dove."

Demetrius: "It's alright. You're back now, luckily enough. And you can turn fox whenever you like. You should now. It's best you relax. Come here, little one."

_Goddamn. Almost there._ Lucian saw Senna looking concerned. He didn't know for what.

* * *

><p>When Lucian reached their sitting room, he found another two couches. Erinae leaning on her elbow, worn out. He also found a small, purring scraggly fox kneading Demetrius' black jeans, and Demetrius flipping through <em>Songs of Noxus. <em>The black glossy pages read _In Memory of Caelyn Falin, aged 17. _

Lucian hesitated. Not for long. He was quick to do anything if the right person told him to.

They didn't notice him at first.

"I'm thankful for you being there for him, Erin. You're very easy for him to talk to."

She nibbled her fingernails. "That why y'adopted me? It's alright if it is."

"Not entirely. It was mostly for protection."

Lucian cleared his throat. They looked up. Erinae scowled. "You again?"

"Hey, man. I apologized."

"Yeh? Y'still an asshat." She had on ruby-red pumps now. Black silk ribbons on the toes. A black leather skirt on her slim white legs, earrings shaped like little snakes. The long golden hair made Lucian think _Yeah, I get it. I see why they're obsessed with her. _

He settled beside the fox's frayed faded tail.

_I can snap his neck. Save people. Take revenge for the angels. _

The thought was so strong he didn't notice Dem's grip on his wrist. Like a vise.

"Please. Try to do it." Demetrius smiled. "I'll snap your forearm and stab the bone through your heart in a breath."

He'd forgotten the Noxian Generals read minds. "I — I need help."

"Breaking a boy's neck isn't much help for anyone."

"No. I agree. I'm sorry." He bit his lip. Demetrius dropped his arm, leaving white finger marks from the pressure. "Two years ago, I lost my wife."

"Hm. These pleas for money grow more elaborate by the second."

Lucian noticed that the fox was now tucked beneath Demetrius' arm. Purring loudly. Anxiously.

Catgirl was leaning forward. "Yeh?"

_Luck is on my side. And holiness. _"My wife and I were trying to do what was right. Protect people. We pledged ourselves to protecting the innocent, the weak. Then I — I fucked up."

Demetrius snapped his book shut, looking at the ceiling. A clenched jaw.

Erinae leaned closer, twirling her pretty hair. Nibbling her bottom lip — a perfect pink bow. Looked sympathetic. "Damn, mate. That's rough."

"Yeah, it was. And someone captured her soul. Took it away from me. Far, far away from me. For two years, I've been lost without her."

The fox was looking up at him. Attentive. His tail swished to and fro, like a cat's. Catgirl's golden eyes were large and sad. Demetrius was unamused.

_Hold on, Senna. I'll be there._ "My wife did everything for me. Kept me safe and warm. Cooked. Laundry." He'd cooked more than her, actually. And neither had done laundry. But the little torn-fur fox was panting now. "I felt so helpless. You know, she did everything. Then my stupid ass left her. I left her. Let her down. I'm trying to fix it. The Lightbringer says I need your help."

"My help?" Catgirl twirled her hair. He could tell she was trying to hide her pleasure. The fox's purr was rasping.

"Yeh. I mean, uh, yes."

"I'm important."

Lucian took a deep breath. "You, love, are indispensable."

Erinae's cheeks turned pink. She rubbed her hands on her skirt. "Yeah. I'll go with your stupid ass. That'll show Jayce."

"Show him what, love?" Demetrius' eyebrows rose.

"That he doesn't own me. I - I dunno if he should."

"Please. You're much lovelier free."

"I agree." Lucian coughed. "And I — Caelyn — he —"

"Absolutely not. I wish you the best of luck, however."

"No?" Lucian reached to pet the little fox.

_I'm gonna catch on fire. Die, burn. _But all he got was a damp snuffle and a sympathetic tongue lap. Their thoughts blurred. _Poor man, lost his wife_. _Huh. I'm touching pure evil._ The bruise-planet floated across his vision. Then Senna. With her smile. _This little thing's pure evil. _Coming back from the dead showed up more in the fox. His fur was tattered. His whiskers were flaking. His pink-white tongue was brushing Lucian's fingertips, apologetic. _Poor man, lost his poor wife…the fox is evil. I was strong. He's disgusting. I won't be like this. I bet she was pretty. Maybe a princess. She won't be like this. _

"And now look." Demetrius laughed and shook his head. "You want her back. How terribly strong and noble you are."

"Please." Lucian's voice cracked. "She's so close."

The Tactician was silent.

"I'd — I'd've helped save Caelyn." He was desperate.

"No. No one would but King Ryland. If you want my Dove's help, don't lie to him. Anything but that." He rubbed noses with the fox. The immediate transformation to boy had Lucian scrabbling for his gun. Instinct.

"M – Master, you heard him. He needs my help."

"Aye. I heard him, little one."

"Erin's going."

"Oh, believe me. I know."

There was a long pause.

Then those weird, hazy, wild, colorless eyes turned to Lucian's own. "I c – cannot let another nobleman suffer the same fate as Sir. Wouldn't you agree having someone who takes care of you leaving you is the very worst?" Caelyn leaned very close with a rattling purr. He smelled of pine.

Lucian leaned away. "Uh. Um. Yes. Yes, I do agree."

"Y'can't live any longer without her." Caelyn was breathless. "How terribly romantic. Y'need her."

"You know what? I think you're right."

He still flinched and gagged when Caelyn embraced him. Demetrius watched him over Caelyn's shoulder with a half-smile, a flat-green gaze.

"Caelyn. Mayhap a bit too friendly, love."

"Hmmm?" He was snuffling Lucian's ear.

Lucian flinched harder when the golden lynx jumped into his lap and started licking his chin. Her whiskers tickled his chin. And the tufted ears twitched. She turned to Demetrius and mewed.

The Tactician sighed.

Lucian coughed. "It's — it's alright."

The fox and the cat were curling up on his lap, purring. Though the cat was swatting at the fox's whiskers. Patting his head. With her claws.

Senna was reaching for him, saying something. He struggled to listen.

_Lord, _Senna said. _Sometimes the weirdest things are easy. _

* * *

><p>And sometimes the easiest things were hard.<p>

The Outlaw stood by the ornate red castle doors in a dark cloak, smoking. The cigarette smelled of old sweet memories and dead dreams.

Graves was watching Ezreal's son practice walking through the topiaries with a book on his head. The bushes were shaped like foxes, wolves. Blondes in white dress shirts were chirping encouragement.

Lucian stood beside Malcolm Graves.

"You get the Reject Crew to help you, Lucky?"

"Yeah. They were nice enough to."

"Those kids'll do anything for a smile. Sell their soul for a pat on the head."

"Oh? Catgirl isn't marrying Jayce."

"Yar, and you know why?"

Lucian was silent.

Graves looked at him and took a drag off his cigarette. "She makes fewer people smile that way."

"Or maybe they're nice kids."

"Maybe."

A long silence. Lucian blew out a breath. "So — are you gonna help me?"

"Why should I?"

"If the Reject Crew is —"

"Hmph. Lumpin' me in with them. Next you know I'll have little kids calling me Daddy."

"That's not what I meant." More silence. More silver cigarette smoke.

Graves' gaze grew distant. "Your wife, huh."

"Yeah. I didn't know — it's not wrong to bring her back."

"She's going to be pissed. I know mine would be."

"Is that why you won't help? 'Cause it's not yours?"

Graves looked at him again, flicked his cigarette to the ground. A Willow-Dove picked it up and tossed it in a can. "You think I'm bitter."

"I don't know what to think, man, I don't. I know my wife's on some planet that's flappin' in the wind —"

"What the hell do I get out of helping you?"

"I know that's not how you think anymore. It can't be, if you're living here and still alive. You said you liked helping people. You said Soraka told you to like helping people. I'm a person, right? You're gonna help, ri —"

"I can't stand it."

"Can't stand what?"

"You — the way you think. It kinda blows my mind. You're right, you're so right, and you're always the same, but then your tune changes a little bit. Then a little more. Always shiftin' towards what you want. You're more Noxian than half these people."

"That an insult?"

"Nah." Graves heaved a heavy sigh. "Catgirl's going."

"Ayup. She looks like your dead wife."

"But she ain't her. Melena would've said _fuck that like an otter's brother _to this. Never knew what the fuck that meant, exactly. Catgirl's different." He sounded like he was reassuring himself. "You know — I married my girl when she was sixteen."

_Damn, _Senna said. _They grow 'em young. _

"So you're going to help."

"You ain't heard a goddamned word." Malcolm looked up at the sun, shaded his eyes. "Sure. I will. Fuck it. Better than wasting away here and —"

"Thanks, man." Lucian couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Graves sighed.

* * *

><p>The four of them stood before the Lightbringer. The Tactician Demetrius and a large brawny muscle-bound man who Lucian didn't know leaned by the wall against the door, looking tired. The brilliant light through the windows was so bright it was tangible, and filled Lucian's palms with something that felt like silk. The myth-tree smelled of cinnamon. Soraka the Star-Seer meditated beneath it, the white fawn sleeping on the folds of her dark-blue dress.<p>

Aven looked at the Reject Star-Children and nodded. "Thank y'for your help with the Southern World."

"Did it help you a lot, your holiness?" Caelyn leaned forward expectantly on tiptoe.

_Sell their soul for a little regard, _Lucian thought. It made him sad.

Aven tried to smile and cleared his throat. "Quite a bit. Fixin' t'help this man."

"Good." Caelyn beamed. Erinae did too.

"As for you two gunslingers — go and try t'relax yourselves. Purify if you want. However you like."

Malcolm Graves snorted.

"And whatcha want us to do?" Erinae yawned. "Besides pack."

"Probably go and get y'selves laid. So y'as calm and stable as possible."

Caelyn and Erin nodded, rubbed noses. The look on their faces was strange. Resignation, relief, Lucian couldn't tell. They left arm in arm.

Then Lucian realized:

"They're — hold up. No — no purification?" The thought made Lucian deeply uncomfortable, though Senna was tugging at his arm and grumbling _come get me, Lazy. Come on. _

Aven lifted one golden eyebrow and shook his head.

Lucian thought he heard Soraka sigh.

Graves stared at Demetrius until he raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Huh." Graves spat.

"I can blow you on a balcony…that'll be fun…" Erinae's giggle echoed down the hall.

Aven stood on one leg, like a crane. "There be no hope of salvation for 'em. Better not t'lie."

"No hope of salvation." Lucian felt his throat clench around a solid black lump of clay.

"Not for them. Not Demetrius either. You, Graves — my Skylan, of course — and y'wife be fine."

_So long as Senna's on the list I don't care, _he thought, then looked at Demetrius again and felt horrible.

"It's alright. Not everyone's meant to be saved." The Tactician shrugged and walked away.

"You're tellin' me a black-hearted Outlaw's got a better chance at heaven than that hoity-toity asshole." Graves snorted towards Aven Lightbringer. "When I've blown men's brains out for lookin' at me wrong. He's worse than that." His voice was both relief and some sharp cold disappointment.

"Aye. Undoubte — indubit — oundoubitbly."

Lucian left. No use worrying. Not when Senna was on the line.

* * *

><p>Blown on a balcony, though. Damn. He remembered.<p>

He stood in his stark Noxian room. Prayers to all the angels. Even if Ezreal insisted they were dead. Prayers to the sky, then to the memory of someone special. Prayers for his father and uncle, burned alive in a messy house fire most thought was arson.

He rubbed his scalp with the pitcher of holy water, shaved the stubble on his face.

And still — blown on a balcony.

Piltover's Metropolitan Art Museum had a Noxian exhibit. And there, of course, was the ghost.

He remembered the evening-cloud colored silk draped down Senna's black curvy legs. The sharp black stilettos. The violet dress opened in the back to reveal her soft shoulders. She had diamonds in her hair and a gun on her hip.

At the red-carpet affair, at their little table by the silver punchbowl, she scarfed both their plates of fancy orange cheese. Then she slung back four glasses of redberry wine. She had started on the fifth when the Director excused himself from the Demacian Knights of the Lily and came to speak to her. His tie, Lucian noticed, changed with the temperature. Cold blue for now.

_You two are supposed to act like honored guests._

_ You saying I'm not honored? _Senna blinked at him.

_Just be slightly less obvious that you're not here for the bidding. _

_ Huh?_

_ The — the Museum — the official scientific stance is that ghosts do not exist. Our council would get laughed out of existence for hiring you two. _

Senna belched in his face, and Lucian laughed hard enough to cry. He hiccupped.

As the event wound down, the sub-director led them to the art room with a disdainful sniff. _The uncultured taking care of the uncivilized. _

_ Your boxers on too tight, Jimmy Eckles? _Senna snapped the man's waistband. Lucian felt helpless but didn't care. She was in a good mood.

_Just get rid of our unwanted presence, so I can get rid of two more._

_ Fucking racist prick, _she said when she was gone. _But look at this shit. _

The Noxian exhibition was full of oil paintings. Of nudes. Of course.

And they looked like Senna.

_Of course they do, hon. Noxus loves black women._

_ Why? _

_ We're beautiful._

_ Besides that. I know that already._

_ Exotic. And a bit scary, yes, quite. _She winked. He cracked up again.

But the pictures were distracting. There was Senna, balancing black cherries on her tongue. In a bathtub, lathering her breasts. Nipples reddened by the steam. In pink heels, with her legs spread wide open on a tiger-fur couch. Her thick asscheeks almost protruded from the painting. Luscious. Touchable. The Noxians weren't shy — the woman's face was distant, but the cleft between her legs was pink and wet, lovingly painted.

_Man. _Lucian adjusted his dress pants. _Noxians are perverts._

She looked at his erection and cackled.

The ghost — a weak black vapor — began to spiral from one painting to the next. She shot it, fried it with a silvery electric bolt. The black smoke crackled and sparked, sounding and smelling like a firecracker.

_Boom, _she said softly. _Boring._

_ How the fuck is your aim so good when you're this drunk?_

_ My secret. _She licked the barrel of her gun, then hissed. _MotherFUCKER! That shit is HOT! _

He laughed so hard he knocked over a priceless urn. But caught it. _Come on, love. We've got to leave._

_ Leave before I take a shit for Jimmy Eckles to clean up._

He coughed and tried not to trip. He didn't want to be thrown in Piltover prison.

He wasn't drunk — he was pure, didn't drink much — but still couldn't find the exit. He followed her out a door marked with a big neon blue sign.

But it was a balcony. No escape from her here.

High up, a summer storm sweeping in, and a little sweet rain glittering down from heavy gray-gold night clouds. Thick. Electric.

_Huh._

_ Huh?_

_ Blowjob weather. _

_ Senna, what in the fuck._

_ I've even got blowjob earrings on. Look. _The storm wind blew her dress up past her ass. She moved.

_Come on. Don't kneel on the concrete and hurt your knees. _

_ There's a chair right over there. Damn. You're too sweet, hon. You know that shit? _The metal legs of the chair skittered. She sat down, dress folds in disarray, and was undoing his zipper. The hot wind toyed with her hair. The lights in the distance and beneath them twinkled. A galaxy of them. A solar system of neon blues, greens, golds, purples.

_Sex is for procreation, _he said automatically.

_Shut the fuck up. It's pure to make women happy, right? _

_ Um._

_ You're my knight. You can't refuse me. Can't turn me down. _She bit her full bottom lip, then tugged the chilled diamond stickpins from her hair and slipped them into his suit pocket. The black unfurled down her neck. The humid heat was relief from sterile cold museum air.

And the rainbow of city lights, the hot summer moon flickered on her silver earrings. Then his pants were at his knees. She sucked him in in one huge gulp, then pushed her breasts together at his thick base. The little brown bow curve of her top lip — he focused on that. Then the city. Watching the zip-trails of flying cars. The undulation of the aqua-pink Radio Tower.

_Someone's probably recording us_, he said, and shoved his cock in deeper. The warm rumble of her voice shivered through him. It was probably _I don't give a fuck_. She suckled him like she needed him. And Lucian liked that more than any physical pleasure. Her needing him. Tasting him, taking him in, lapping at his head because she wanted to. She was in control. Even if the large breasts spilling from the tight bejeweled purple dress said otherwise.

And as her tongue teased him to the point of climax, he had a very typical Prayer-Boy moment of _I'm human, we're all human. I'm going to die. _His orgasm was a long, slow burn. It ended with fingers woven deep into her warm hair, quiet moans. The city lights brightened. It seemed very holy. He liked that, too.

He cupped her tender breasts as she swallowed. Then she got to her feet. A genuine moment of frustration — _You can't enjoy anything._

He looked at her and the city. Vibrant, colorful. He sighed. _Just —_

_ Babe. Hon. It's alright._Her hand hesitated, on the verge of an irritated slap. Then she cupped his cheek. _It's alright. I love you. I'll tell you it's alright. _

In the present, watching night creep over the tall towers of Noxus from a balcony wasn't the same.

But planning to get her — to return her to him, even if she was a little hazy — had silenced that little piece of addiction inside of him. For now.


	9. The Wild Field (Part One)

_N.B. Well. Uh. I'm surprised we made it this far without an optional chapter. I got kinda (sort of) (rather) depressed, and things always get unpredictable. I also can't fight it like I usually do because I'm trying to finish the story, and — point is, this chapter's pretty much all Erinae. Skip if you want to read more Lucian or don't want to read about child prostitution (?)._

* * *

><p>Out.<p>

In the alcove outside Aven Lightbringer's chamber. Night. Oil lanterns burning low.

Ezreal and Luxanna were talking quietly, leaning against a wall. Lucian watched Ezreal cup Lux's cheek and felt a short burst of agony, envy under his ribs.

Erin was in jeans and one of Caelyn's black t-shirts. The Foxboy had his huge black angel-slaying sword slung over his back.

_Feels like my guns are itching. _The Purifier glanced at his sides. The barrels were glowing.

So was the hilt of Caelyn's black sword. A dusky red color.

_Oh, boy. _

Graves had a canteen and a light pack.

"Not many supplies, huh?"

"You'd be surprised how these things work."

"Kinda can't wait for it to begin, so you can quit saying shit like that."

"You want me to help, Lucky?"

"You should help, Sir Malcolm." Caelyn was excited. "He n - needs his wife back."

Graves sighed. His huge gun wasn't glowing. The barrel was a moody flat blue-black color. Tired.

"Is Daddy gonna stay mad?" Erinae bent over and touched her toes. Luxanna whispered something in Ezreal's ear, and he snorted.

_Oh, man. _Lucian dug at his arms.

"Probably for a little bit. Erin — we've got t'come back. Just like this man would die without his wife, I think he'd die without me." Caelyn nuzzled her, kissed her forehead. "Us."

_Sweet Saint Sarturo. _He was glad when the chamber doors opened.

Though the excited feeling curled up in his stomach and died.

Three or four of the windows were fused into a clear sheet of glass. And, though it was night, the sky through those panes was bright.

A huge mild green-grass plain rippled in the wind. Black mountains on either side of the field, jagged spikes with heads lost in fluffy gray clouds.

And the bruise planet. It occupied the white sky to the South. A huge gasping red-blue-black thunderous orb, a sphere close enough for their fingers to scratch. But so far away.

His heart was throbbing in the middle of his throat. It took him a long moment to notice King Ryland II leaning against the silver myth-tree, large hands splayed on the trunk. Aven Lightbringer snuggled against him, dozing. The branches slowly pulsed with white.

"You're free to go." Ryland's voice rang. "But on one condition."

"I'm not serving you," Lucian blurted. He heard Ezreal laugh behind him, through the chamber doors.

Ryland blinked. "You and Malcolm can't speak on the journey."

The condition sounded so fantastical it took Lucian a moment to process.

Graves stirred. "Any reason why, Lightboy? Or, sorry. Your Majestical Lightboy."

The royal look on Ryland's face cracked for a smile. "Destabilization. I — we're a bit unnerved by this, to say the least, but Aven had a point."

"I'm sure he did." Caelyn hugged Erin close. "A fine one."

"_What be the point of maintainin' t'Wheel if we don't let things like this occur_?" Ryland smiled broader when Erinae and Caelyn laughed.

Lucian squirmed. "Does it blow up if we accidentally speak a word, or, like —"

"Just avoid it. And upsetting your guides."

"I brought meds." Caelyn nodded hard.

"Two a night, at most. I know you won't need them." Ryland ruffled Caelyn's hair with — was that a glove? A huge black glove. Covering something up. "Go on. See you in about a week. _Ta – aikah._"

And before Lucian could speak another word, they were walking forward, into the light.

They stepped in — the bright white rippled wetly around them, like they were standing in a waterfall. And the last words they all heard were:

_You just fucking let her go? _

_ I sent him to protect her. Be glad I made the sacrifice._

_ You mean she's there to protect his useless PTSD ass. _

_ They will return, Jayce._

_ How could you? How could you possibly? _

_ Caelyn's freer with me than she ever would be with you. She knows that. _

Lucian glanced at the Reject Star-Children, the light blazing around their freckled faces. A strange expression — like a brief gray summertide cloud dipping before the sun — fled across their gold and silver eyes.

_Oh, boy, man. _

_ Hurry up, prayer-man. Come on. Come on. Come on. _

* * *

><p><em>The Past<em>

_Ain't gonna see any real tears._

Her motto.

So thinking, she slammed her little hands on his desk and watched his knickknacks jump. A topless calendar of models. A picture of his too-young wife. Ionian hula-girl. All shit that screamed _asshat_.

"The fuck you mean I can't go outside, Riv-O?"

"Erin —"

"Come _on, _man!" She bared her teeth.

"You're far too young to be out in this city." The fat man folded his salami-like fingers. "The instant you're out of my sight, someone's gonna pick you up and stick you in a suitcase. Next thing I know, your crazy wild ass is gonna be clear in Ionia or the Freljord."

"So you're keepin' me locked up. The fuck did I do? Am I in jail?"

"Your crime," he said grandly. "Your crime is that you are too lovely for this world." He brushed a chubby, leathery hand across her cheek. She snarled and stomped away.

Through the "living room," which was a glorified lobby. Cluttered with darkwood chairs and knock-off crystal.

Then past the closed doors and quiet moans, up to her bedroom on the fifth floor. It was clean. A big black leather chair with a thick black rug in front of it. Easy on the knees.

Her king-sized bed was elegant, glossy, black, with a heart-shaped headboard.

The cat-house almost looked like a real house. Sometimes.

She fell face-first onto her silver comforter and groaned. _Can't go outside. I'm dyin', man. I'm gonna kill his stupid ass. _

No time to do that, though. She had an appointment with a weirdo.

Nothing too weird — Jeanette did the breast-pump/vacuum/strap-on things. Not her. Erinae was, as Riv-O liked to put it, _medium weird_, _well done. _

The guy was a little skinny loser. Fluffy brown hair, big wrinkly blue coat. And all he wanted was for her to wear purple. That was it.

_Stupid. _She slipped into a purple bikini. Leaned on her stomach on her bed, cocked her head. He sat in the chair, unzipped his pants and jacked off without touching her.

At one point — posing with her ass in the air, doing pole-dance stretches, bored and restless — she blurted, "Can't you just get your fuckin' girlfriend to wear purple?"

"She refuses," he said softly. His fingers cupped the head of his cock protectively, pressing a soft tissue to it. "It turns me on too much."

"What about grapes?"

His dick twitched. He panted.

She scoffed. "Could really just jack off on a color wheel, man." He was in the middle of climax. He came in the tissue (four tissue boxes conveniently near that big black chair). Then he cracked up.

"You're cute."

She beamed. He was gonna tip her. "Thanks."

$800 in one afternoon. $80 in shares, $40 in tips.

Boom. Not bad.

* * *

><p>The next morning, she leaned out of her window. Wanting to go out.<p>

A real shitty view of Noxus — ugly alley below, sliver of colorless sky above. Plastic bags like fragments of dirty snow in springtide.

She'd see no other view for a long while, probably.

She thought, _this is like some musical scene. Like the kind Jeanette watches. Princes come on by. Stupid. _

Fuck princes. She had a crush on that new General Caelyn Falin and that Good Man.

A week ago, Marie had laughed and fanned herself over their shared gossip mag. Marie wore the historical costumes for the nerdy fetishists — the red-gray bustiers, the corsets, the big frilly skirts and petticoats. Long black boots. She made her own shoes and knitted her own lace. And she had the _I'm a Noxian lady from 400 years ago _accent down perfectly.

But she didn't use it unless she was on the clock.

_Ew. Erin, what in the shitting cockfuck? Caelyn's hands look like Jim Zorbo's motherfuckin' bologna dick. _

_ Ewww. _Jeanette of the Weird Stuff buried her face in her hands, hiding in her long black hair. _Don't remind me. Please, god. _

Fuck that. Caelyn was cute.

In the present, Erin stuck her head out, took a deep breath of air, and belted out that one song Marie sang under her breath:

_Somewhere beyond the sea —_

_Somewhere waiting for me —_

_My lover stands on golden saaaaaaaaaands _

_And watches the ships as they go _

_Saiiiiiiiiiling! _

She looked up and blushed. Neighbors next door peering out their windows. Street sweepers nodding. They all began to clap and cheer.

She bowed. "Thank you, thank you! I'll be here for the rest of my miserable life!"

Then she whirled and found Fat-ass Riv-O staring at her. Shocked. Coffee in one ugly hand, rumpled velvet navy robe open to his greasy chest hair.

"What you want? You ain't a client."

"Alright, alright, I'm going. Jeez."

While she pulled on her school-girl's outfit (not a costume; didn't have to be), she heard talking through her vent.

Riv-O: "She's too good for this place. Too good."

Riv-O's stupid son, Vinny: "Papa. We got the best cat-house in town. We get _Generals, _Papa."

"Yeah! For her!"

"For us. No one else gets Generals. Besides, where's the little slut gonna go?"

Erinae rolled her eyes.

The next client was an old guy. But a hot old guy, with salt-and-pepper hair and tanned, muscled arms. And pretty green eyes. Her body flushed.

"Um." She scratched behind her ear. He looked friendly, too. Smiling like he was about to laugh. But in a nice way, like they were friends. That made her feel weird. "You want your dick sucked, man?"

He gaped at her.

She was flustered. "What? That's what you're here for, right?"

"Actually, my dear. I just wished for you to sit on my lap and let me fondle you."

"Fondue?" She squinted. "You want Jeanette for that."

"Fondle. Caress. You know." He looked away. "Or perhaps you don't."

She felt herself turning bright, painful red. "Sure. I guess."

She sat on his lap in that leather chair, waiting for the hand to slip between her legs.

But it didn't. The fingers brushed through her hair, behind her ear. Beneath her chin. She watched the ugly building outside her window. Craved to walk along a window-sill. Eat birds.

Soothing. His hands were big and nice. She was purring — forgot not to.

"Poor wild thing," he murmured in her ear, and kissed it. "Captivity is never kind to those with hearts lost to the forest gods." He smelled like a bookstore. Erin had been to one once. Once.

She couldn't look at those green eyes. She scowled. "You want me to cry?"

"That'd be nice, actually." His large warm hand was splayed across her chest. "I'd enjoy that immensely."

"Sick fuck," she muttered.

"Oh," he said. "Aye."

She sat up straight. _Noxian General. Retired. Still top of the top here. In charge of this city once._

She felt him laugh, a rumble against her shoulders. "You're correct."

_Mind-readers. _

She burst into tears. When he kissed them away, she cried harder. "T – these are sooooooo fake. I'm a great actress."

He kissed her temple, nuzzling her. He wasn't hard. But he was happy. "Sure they are, little one. Of course."

A furious Riveria the Fat came dragging the next client in — he was twenty minutes overdue. They both stumbled back and saluted when the General got up, dusted his hands on his pants.

"Forgive me. I was enjoying having my granddaughter back in arms."

Erinae was a sobbing mess. The other client left, thoroughly unnerved. Riveria took it out of her wages.

Boom. Not good.

* * *

><p>"I brought you a present."<p>

It was raining outside, light, gray. Still, a few blonde Willow-Doves had gathered beneath her window to hear her sing, hiding beneath their masters' huge black umbrellas, groceries in hand.

She was hoping Caelyn was there. Ugly hands, shy smile, cute hair. He was a Willow-Dove.

But he was off in Demacia now. Saving Noxus. A real hero.

Off places. Out of here.

She sang an old showtown number into the rain — _My Heart's in the Highlands. _Some pop hits — _She's Not There _and _Like a Hummingbird_. The Willow-Doves applauded as best they could without dropping the eggs and milk, cheering.

But Riv-O chased them off with a cane. And now he wanted to give her a present.

"Is it letting me walk around the block, stupid?"

"No."

"Then I don't want it."

He handed her the Piltover 'screen. A clear pane of glass the size of both her hands together.

He tapped it and a documentary about Ionian Horn-beaked Parrots appeared. Bright green, fluttering their wings. Chirruping. Lifelike.

Her jaw dropped. "Gimme that. Thanks."

"I thought you'd like —"

"Get outta here." She shoved him out the door, turned into a cat, and swatted at the birds. Tail swishing. Claws out. _Swatswat. Swat. Purr. Swat. _

She didn't notice her next client.

He tapped her on the shoulder while she was a cat. She turned tiger and roared into his face, startled.

The man stumbled back against the door. His green eyes flashed. He laughed. "Well. Though he said you were feisty — this isn't quite what I was expecting after Arsten's review."

_Is that another General? _

A young one, though. Active duty. Thick black hair, strong arms. Perfect jaw. Bright green eyes.

She turned girl, but had forgotten her ugly loose boxers. Her torn blue bra.

She hadn't gotten ready and messed up for a fucking General. An unforgivable sin. Riv-O was going to kick her ass.

She cleared her throat. "Uh. Good morning."

"Good morning there, changeling girl. Wild beast of the northern star." He was breathless. "I think I've dreamt of you."

That made her mad. She didn't know why. "Go eat your ass."

"I'm drunk," he said, tugging at his neck.

"No you're not. You're doing that thing where guys pretend they're too drunk to know better, but they know exactly what's going on. Don't even try it."

"So much for this being my little fantasy land, hmmm? And you're right. The _Dragon's Scorch _felt like water." He chuckled and collapsed on the edge of the bed, smoothing his black shirt. He smelled wonderful, like evenings of mystery. Heavenly. Like a Jeanette-level prince. "I was wondering if you could help me."

"I can help you get off. That's about it."

"I'm a sick man, and I'm sick of it."

"So you came to a fucking cat house? Good one, buddy."

"I like you."

"Yeh? A lot of people do."

"That must be wonderful," he sighed, and lay back. His shirt revealed a messy trail of black stomach hair. A taut stomach. "They're not allowing me to go on the first Falin Campaign. The grandest campaign in Noxian history. Yet here I sit at home, because a young half-wit half-breed General is afraid of me."

"You know _Caelyn_?" She gasped.

His green eyes twinkled. "My dear, I hate Caelyn with a burning passion."

"Fuck you, man." But she was interested. "Why?"

"Because he belongs to my greatest enemy. Demetrius Falin. Everyone — I don't want to bore you."

"No, no, no. I ain't bored. No dude. No. Nope." She shuddered with excitement, knelt on the bed next to him.

"Everyone knows Demetrius Falin has fucked his boy. It's quite apparent. And I — _I _have never lain a hand on one of those pathetic bird-slaves. Not a single hand." He bit his lip. "Not once."

"I believe you."

"But they — the Generals. We're all mind-readers."

"Oh yeah? What color am I thinking?"

"You misspoke, and you meant number, and you're thinking of the number 49."

"Geez." She crept nearer, sniffing him. Real cologne. Real General smell. "That's good."

"I never know why people are impressed with the Generals." He shifted to pull her under his arm and nuzzled her forehead. He was warm. "We're all a bunch of hateful old women. They're mean to me."

"You know what I think?"

He smiled. "Yes."

She swatted him. "I'm thinkin' you changed the subject."

"Oh. Well, I have a bit of a problem."

"You got a Willow-Dove fetish. And you ain't getting away with it like the Good Man does with Caelyn. Right?"

He flushed bright red, coughed. "You are spectacularly blunt. And perceptive."

"You want one to suck you off in the kitchens, or in an alley, kneeling — you know. With their stupid accent." She clicked her tongue. "I bet t'accent really turns y'on."

His face was burning. Erinae giggled. She liked him, too.

"I can dress like one."

"I — that's —"

"Hey. Someone jacked off to the color purple a couple days ago. And there was whatever that retired creepy old General guy wanted last night." She didn't know why the guys always wanted reassurance.

"Ah. Arsten. He misses feeling like his granddaughter needs him. She's twenty-four, getting married to a family friend of mine. She's not papa's little girl anymore. That's all."

"That's fucking stupid," she said, and opened the door to her closet.

"You're truly doing this." He sounded awed.

She tugged on her black dress pants with a snort. "Aye. Why don't y'just buy y'self a Dove?"

"Please don't talk like that." He was hiding in his hands.

"No, but seriously." She knotted a red tie around her neck. All Noxians knew many knots. "Come on. Buy one."

"I'm poor. I gamble and I drink like an imbecile. I'm saving for a very good handsome one to show the rest of those godsdamned fucksticks I'm a real man, and —" He coughed. "Why the hell am I telling a stupid cat all this? A literal cat?"

"Because I be cool." She winked, locked the door to her closet again, and stood before him. "Let me blow you. Jeanette's gonna be so jealous. They all are."

He looked at her through the crack in his fingers. "But do you actually enjoy it? Or are you conditioned to say you do?"

"You got t'mind-readin', right, sir?" She tracked the spread of color across his handsome face again. A dark rose-colored bloom. Her heart fluttered. "Y'can find out f'yself."

After a moment, he glanced out the little window, into the rain. "I don't know if you enjoying yourself makes this better or worse."

"Does it matter? Of course I enjoy it. Who wouldn't be enjoyin' t'time with a real handsome man?"

He buried his face beneath a pillow and groaned. But she watched the crotch of his expensive jeans firm up.

The dudes' erections were different when they were around their fetish. Hard usually, but around their turn-ons? Like rocks. Like the firm spine of the earth. She and Marie agreed on this.

Jeanette insisted she was always too semi-conscious to notice. Doing the weird stuff.

The stories were true — the Generals were huge, with skin that smelled wild foreign spice and felt like silk. And the warm hand massaging the back of her neck felt good enough to make her purr. He tugged on her red tie, but not too hard. And when he sat up with his lips parted, she felt a flutter in her chest. He looked young. Innocent.

He left her with a warm kiss on the forehead, a heartfelt _thank you_, and a 10K bill on her nightstand. With King Ryland I on it. The real thing.

She looked at it, held it up to the light, shivering.

Then she hid it deep in the closet. In the fairy costume's pink slipper, with the rest of her savings.

Which had been about 700 before the General.

Boom. Her heart. Boom. Good, not good, she couldn't tell. Boom.

* * *

><p>He came back every two days, for six rainy summertide weeks, during the campaign he wasn't allowed to go on.<p>

Noxus' greatest campaign. As the rain swept from the sky, the radio in Marie's room — she hid it from her history-obsessed clients — paid endless tribute to _Caelyn Falin, Noxus' true champion. _Or _Lieutenant __Katarina du Couteau, the goddess-warrior. _Or _General_ _Darius' relentless axe_.

Erinae was in love. Not with Degardo, of course. Bought colored posters of Caelyn, magazines. Purred over the pictures of him in his jacket and tie. And laughed when she gave presents to Marie and Jeanette, and watched their faces light up. Jeanette of the Weird Stuff in particular sometimes hugged her and cried with happiness over a nice makeup mirror or decorative scrunchie.

The cramped ugly view out the window wasn't as bad with her singing audience. The old couples next door listened on their porches. So did the garbagemen. One man booed her and was promptly pelted with trash and angry shouts.

Oh. And the Willow-Doves listened, too.

Though they never failed to vanish around the time Degardo appeared.

One morning she serenaded the Doves with a winsome love song that left them all murmuring to each other with big, sad blue eyes. One of them whispered _reminds me of General Falin while Caelyn be off fightin'_. Her heart clenched, then soared.

_Standing at the gates, and they're ringing the bells…  
>Standing face to face, looking into myself…<br>When voices cry I come alive  
>With the bells at midnight…<em>

_Wings break my fall,_

_And angels cry with bells at midnight._

No more mean clients, either. She wasn't supposed to know. But she heard Riveria on the phone with his wife, saying _he rented her for the entire fucking month-and-a-half. Clients are approved by him. It's fucking insane is what it is. Fucking Generals. _A pause. _I know! It's like they run this city or somethin'!_

Degardo screened them. But she was still occupied every hour available. Her fame was growing. Nervous Noxian noblemen. A few duchesses who wanted to beat her ass with a hairbrush. Everyone wanted Erin the Riv.

The snooty rich people loved her rough accent and her body.

* * *

><p>And General Degardo brought Ionian take-out on the fifth day.<p>

She leaned on him and yawned. "You gonna eat wontons while I suck y'dick? Don't blame y'. Real efficient."

"You're really practicing that accent, aren't you? Good gods almighty." He blushed. He was hard immediately. "Half of this was for you."

She stared at him, in white boy's briefs and black dress socks, a red tie knotted loosely around her neck. "You're already paying me. Come on." She was absurdly touched.

"Here." He held a cookie before her and watched her nibble it. It tasted like glory. Sweetness. He ran a hand down her bare back. "I'll be frank with you. I'm hoping that through repeatedly exposing myself — literally and metaphorically — to a Willow-Dove lookalike, the charm will wear off. No more suspicions from my fellow Generals."

"Aye. No more suspicions."

She paused in nibbling her cookie. Something weird was going on in Jeanette's room. More screaming than usual.

Degardo blinked. "She's — she's apparently fine."

"Thank y'for checkin'," she whispered.

He traced her mouth. "I wouldn't want you to worry, little one."

She kissed him on the lips. Hard. She never kissed clients, but Degardo insisted he needed it. _So the stimulation will wear off_. And because it felt good. "Touch me, Master. Been waitin' on you."

"Fuck," she heard him whisper. The effect was instantaneous. A long hot iron beneath her palm. In the distance, the radio was going on about _an inevitable surrender to Noxus, a glowing victory. _Rain pattered to the ugly alley."The angels damn it."

"Please." She moaned softly and guided his hand down her bare belly. "It feels s'good."

It did feel good.

Or maybe not, she told herself. She was a great actress.

He struggled to resist, but she pulled herself onto his lap, pressed herself against his thudding erection, felt his thudding heart. And looked at his bright green eyes. Then nibbled his bottom lip.

"I'm better than this," he murmured.

She kissed his forehead. Felt bad for him. He was trying. "Mayhap y'are. I like y'regardless."

He shoved her back onto the bed. Ripped the underwear down to her knees, and fucked her.

Boom.

* * *

><p>There was a certain darkness to Degardo. It wasn't the most original way of putting things, but there was an emptiness. A chasm she could see lurking in those glass-green eyes. Like some of the creepier clients had. Only Degardo didn't scare her, because he was fighting it.<p>

She knew how he was feeling with one look. Whether those eyes were bright enough to conceal it. Or whether that little emptiness — a bleak note in his laugh, a crooked curve in his smile — was pushing through his ribcage. Engulfing his heart like a cloud of dry ice.

Whenever it was bad, she halted the exercises and simply held him, stroking his hair, kissing his temple. Trying to push it back with warmth.

Or maybe not, since she was a great actress. Maybe he was just paying her a lot to be nice. Erin the Riv always gave them their money's worth.

* * *

><p>She sang to the Willow-Doves and listened to their responses to practice their accent. When she turned away one morning, she heard "Miss! Miss!"<p>

She looked down at the cluster of them, in white dress shirts and dark jeans. "Yeh?"

The umbrellas bobbed. "Be y'a princess locked in a tower?"

She turned bright pink. "Nah. I'm a hooker."

"Y'can be a hooker princess," an older one offered. "Or a princess hooker."

"Prob'ly a princess hooker. Look at her face. S'perfect."

"Thank you." She giggled.

"She looks a bit like Luxie Crownguard," one murmured. There was a round of assent. "Lord. Caelyn would have a fit."

She turned brighter pink, sighed, and fell on her bed, hugging herself.

* * *

><p>Degardo bought her a radio for herself. A fancy one that automatically recorded Caelyn talking to on-the-field reporters. In the dark she watched the rainy streetlamp light flicker on the ceiling, and listened to him. Her heart thudded just to hear him breathe into the mic. "<em>I do what I do to protect my master and my home. Noxian glory surpasses that of the sun, let alone a few miser – mi – m – m – miserable angels.<em>"

"Poor thing," she murmured into the dark. She meant Degardo, too. Poor things. She felt bad for him. That was it.

"_My duty to m'country isn't much different from that to my master. One must learn t'submit to fate, brought by the giant Wheel. Ta - shakti. Submit, even if it hurts. So do the Willow-Doves, the children of Demacia, learn this lesson, so too will Demacia itself._"

* * *

><p>"Miss!" The Willow-Doves talked to her every time now.<p>

"What now?"

"Open y'window wide! I think Ryan White's got this!"

She did, thinking _what in the sam hill_.

A pretty rock with notes rubber-banded to it sailed in and landed at her feet. The letters said things like _Your voice brightens up my entire week _and _To hear the songbirds tell it, they're jealous_. And requests for weird songs, like _Long A Growin' _and _Carolan's Welcome. _

Degardo read them, chuckled, and then left and bought her the sheet music. He liked to make the Doves happy.

Part of his fetish. How easily they smiled.

Part of why he liked Erin, too.

The General wasn't surprised she could read the music notes. Not the way Riveria was surprised she could do math.

He spread the Ionian food out like a picnic on her bed, then kissed her cheek. His emptiness was a small cloud at the moment. "Erinae, I know you're talented. Come on now."

Later that day, she heard Riveria humming. His son Vinny saying in a fake General's accent, "This business. Most excellent. I adore it."

* * *

><p>"You know," Degardo murmured into her hair one night. "I don't know if I'm turned on by your Willow-Dove characteristics or just you now."<p>

She giggled and swatted him, blushing and memorizing the lyrics to _My Love's The Mist on the Sea_. An old love song. Old. A Dove favorite. "Stop."

He continued to gently brush her golden hair out onto her shoulders. It was damp from their shared shower. "Or both. I came to lose one addiction and found another. Of course." He nibbled her ear, pinched her nipple. She arched her back. "My opinion is that there is darkness all around us, and I fell into it as a child, and never made it out."

"You know what? I'm just happy you bring me cookies." She patted his head and watched him smile. Hoped she could push the darkness away. It was bad tonight.

"But I look forward to our time together." Degardo watched her turn cat, then held her in his arms and let her purr. "More than almost everything. You're a great listener."

She patted his nose. With her claws. She thought of the latest note from a Willow-Dove — _thinking of your voice makes polishing the silverwear even more pleasurable than before. I think of it while walking through the woods. _It made her chest sore. She didn't know why.

"I'd love for you to come home with me, but your master's slow. Slow to think and slower to act. Rather powerful, too, for a non-General."

His thumb wandered up her spine. It felt fantastic. She didn't love him, though. It just felt good.

"Or else I'd just kidnap you." His breath sounded rougher than usual, reeked of vodka. "I don't think they know how lonely it is to sleep with no one in your house. And to go a full day without touching someone, anyone else — how is the human experience valid?"

She arched her back and kneaded his leg. _Poor guy. _

He swallowed. "I'd kidnap you, but I'm already in enough trouble from enough people…" His voice trailed off. They fell asleep together.

* * *

><p>He paid her a shitload. So did his approved clientele, trying to outdo one another. Spoil Erin the Riv. The pink shoes to her fairy costume were stuffed and packed with rolls of cash.<p>

She'd asked Riveria in passing how much she'd have to pay to buy herself.

_One million. _

She almost said _that's it? _Then bit her tongue hard. Instead she looked away, sad. Then muttered _fucking fat bastard _and walked away. Let him feel superior.

The view outside the window wasn't as bad, but — it was getting old.

Especially when the Doves weren't there to sing for. She waited fifteen extra minutes before her concert. But they didn't show, for the first time in weeks.

So she helped Marie pin her golden-dyed curls up like a picture in a textbook. The guy coming in wanted a specific woman — _Queen Cressida_. Jeanette was in a torn purple thong, lying limply on the replica royalty bed, face buried in her hair. Hiding more than usual. Her hipbones looked like broken ship-masts.

"You alright, kid?" Marie using the voice she did when she was worried, but trying not to show it.

"Ummm."

"You need to stop. Turn them down. Riveria will let you. He's fucking worried."

"My mom's dying. I need money."

Erinae paused. _I should give her some. I really should. _She was going to, but Degardo appeared in the doorway. Flushed, smiling. Eyes brighter than usual. "Evening, lovely ladies."

Marie blushed too hard to talk. Jeanette groaned.

Erinae blushed, too. She wasn't in love with him, because that would be beyond stupid. What was Riveria's motto? _If you've seen his schlong, move along. _Which was about the dumbest shit ever. But accurate.

Move along or else they were going to.

"Well. Alright then." Degardo tugged Erin away by the arm, led her to her room. The other girls — about thirty of them, actually, but Riveria's Cat-House was enormous and Erin only hung with the highest-paid girls, Riveria's strict order — watched her with envy, blushes. "I'm still optimistic about this. About life, I mean."

_Oh, boy. _That didn't sound good."Look, man. You want me to be honest?"

"You're going to be."

"You're getting worse."

A secretive half-smile. "Yes. I am. I'm about to be in horrible trouble when the troops come marching home."

Her stomach sank. Degardo's crooked smile, Jeanette feeling down. The Willow-Doves not appearing under her window this morning. A bad omen. Caelyn was returning from his first deployment tomorrow morning (_maybe that's where they were_), but the city was tense.

Degardo's breath whistled out. "I gave in. I wanted to tell you about it. I have no one else to tell."

"I tried to help you, man." Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. It wasn't because he'd be leaving soon, though that sucked. Bad.

It sucked really bad. Not that she loved him or anything.

Still — he and his clients had given her enough to buy herself, then live for a year or two. She felt worse for not being able to help him. People always wanted their money's worth. The girls wanted to give it.

_Man, don't cry in front of him. _"I really did try to help."

"And you did your utmost. I appreciate it. More than anyone else has done."

She ignored him. "Is that why the Doves weren't there this morning?"

He stared at her, then looked away. "Not beneath your window to hear you sing."

"Yeh."

"Prob — probably. Damn it." He flung open the door to her room and sat on her bed. Then he blurted, "But I feel so much better. I'm sorry, I do. I already know I want to do it again."

"Did you hurt him?"

"Not too much."

"Fuck, man." Erinae sighed hard. "Did you pay him?"

"Absolutely not." Degardo closed his eyes. "I jumped him after a tactics talk. The Doves come to serve the Lower Generals when the Upper ones are out of town. Come to hear news of their precious Caelyn. Dark alley, waiting for a ride home. You know."

"Classic." Her voice was flat. Caelyn wouldn't be on the radio tonight, either, riding home on his horse.

General Degardo nodded. "It was better than every fantasy. The struggling, the panting. The moaning. It always is."

She frowned. "I thought you said you never —"

"I lied. I've already been caught with Wren White about four times over the past five years. Only accused once publicly. Never caught with Asher Rowan, because he's mute. So that's been around eight or ten. He submits without trouble now. This last one was a cranky bastard named Linnaeus Isaacs. You know he had the nerve to say _fantastic, here comes Dick-Forth Degardo. Jus' what I needed in m'life. Y'hung like a toothpick-maker's infant son._"

Erin ignored the funny accent and sighed.

She was wondering — were any of the boys under her window Wren White? Or Asher Rowan? What about the one who asked if she was a princess?

"They're always Doves of the Top Guard." Degardo's half smile collapsed. "And the Top Guard threatens me. But not Demetrius Falin and Caelyn. Oh, no, never them."

She looked at him, feeling some deep sadness. She couldn't pin it down.

"Alright, man. Sorry I couldn't help."

"You did very well. You're not a trained counselor." His green eyes were sad. "I think I needed a friend more than anything. I enjoy you as a person. A companion."

"Yeah. Guess so."

He took a deep breath. "I've been able to quit drinking because of you."

"That's not really good enough. Good for you, yeh, but —" She scratched her head. _I suck. _"Damn."

His jaw clenched. Then he hugged her tight and murmured _thank you _into her hair. And departed.

She fell forward onto her bed.

Boom.

But not quite done.

That night, the screaming from Jeanette's room was distracting her. She wanted to watch _Oceans Of Ionia _in peace. Smack the fish with her kitty paws. Forget about the sad blue eyes and golden hair beneath her windows.

She didn't feel like singing.

She heard the snooty dirty historical talk in Marie's room pause — the_Queen Cressida _guy had rented for her four hours. A post-exams reward.

But Jeanette was disrupting the entire house.

Rain poured. Irritated, she pushed to her feet and stormed down to Jeanette's room. _Enough, damn it._ The screams fell silent right as she touched the doorknob. Cut off.

She opened it anyway.

And Jeanette was broken, lying in a pale broken-glass-looking heap on her black carpet. Face-down. Her black hair spread out in a cloud.

The five men — huge, burly, bald, in big black wife-beaters — whirled to look at Erinae. One was holding a crowbar. They looked like coyotes. Heartless fucking coyotes.

Blood. Leaking from Jeanette's head. And — brain. Yep. That was brain. A little red-pink bulge on the back of her skull. It quivered.

_Fuck. _

Erin scrambled down the halls. The doors flew open behind her. Queen Cressida/Marie trailed her, picking her skirts up, boots clomping. Panicking. Her young bespectacled client ran to Jeanette, to administer first aid. He was a second-year, straight-A med student.

A lot of the other girls were running, too, following her, in pink sequin tutus or secretary-worthy dresses. Shrieking.

Erinae flung herself into the "living room" and scrabbled for the phone. Riveria's son was there, though. Vinny. Who loved the business.

He looked her in the eyes and cut the wire.

She punched him in the face and roared as a human. Riveria himself — like a great fat thundercloud — stormed into the living room, ushering the girls back into their rooms, shouting at the human coyotes. She watched them flee. She watched most of the clientele leave.

The med-student history geek staggered back into the living room. Tears ran down his face. He buried his face in Queen Cressida/Marie's shoulders. Sobbing.

Riveria snatched Erinae by the shoulders. She snarled into his face, baring sharp teeth.

And he said something she'd never thought he'd say: "I'm sorry, Erin. You don't deserve this."

_What the fuck? _

She ran back to her room and paced. Paced. Turned tiger and paced that way, too, but the room felt even smaller.

Two hours. Then she heard Riveria and his son talking. She turned girl and flung herself on the vent, scowling.

"…hire a good cleaner's."

"There's no way in fucking hell we can bribe our way out of a cover story in _The Nightview_."

"With what that crazy fucking General paid us for _him _to stay out of the tabloids? Yes we can, daddy-o. I promise you. I promise. Have I ever let you down?" Vinny was desperate to take over the business.

"I liked Jeanette," Riveria fretted. "I told her to stop. Dumb bitch didn't listen."

"What — so you want an actual funeral? You serious?"

A long pause. Erinae's chest seized.

"No. Guess not."

Boom.

The next morning, she sang into the rain "_See you stupid fucks later, I'm blowing this fucking town_" to an improvised tune. She got standing ovations, cheers, and whistles.

There were still no Willow-Doves. No chance to say goodbye.

She counted out the bills, put them in a sack, packed her shit, hid the rest of the bills in a makeup case inside her backpack, found Riveria mulling in his office over weak coffee, and slammed the bag on top of his desk.

"I want out."

He blinked. "You sure? That General —"

"I don't give a single —"

"He said he'd come back for you soon. He likes you. A lot, Erin. Enough to make you his own. I'd let him."

Her heart stirred.

Then she laughed. Loud. Bitter. "Like I'm good enough. I can't fuckin' help him. Please. Just fuckin' take this shit."

"Alright. I'll let you out before it happens to you too. I'd — I'd hate that." He set his coffee aside, grunted, began to write up the bill of sale. The house was very quiet.

She heard a gossip show on Riveria's own radio. "_…second bad report General Giocamo Degardo has had in the last year and a half. Though the name of the minor was not released, the Generals of Noxus are pursuing collective legal action on behalf of the Willow-Doves_. _General Demetrius Falin, 4th in command and recently reunited with General Caelyn Falin, calls Degardo's actions 'an outrage, simply an outrage. Willow-Doves ought to be protected.' The Tactician's comment was intended somewhat ironically, as he opposes the conscription of his own Willow-Dove Caelyn Falin into the Noxian military._ _Though Jericho Swain insists that Noxus is now stronger than ever, there is a strange hesitation in the air…" _

Riveria handed her the deed of freedom, hugged her, thanked her.

Then she was out. Out. Out into the rain. Out.

* * *

><p><em>The Present, Between Worlds<em>

Lucian looked down at his hands. The world swayed gently.

He had to make sure they were the strong, black, coarse ones he wanted. Not the little pale white ones that signified he was waiting on the next dick to push against his face.

And of course he couldn't speak. So he glanced at Malcolm Graves to see if he'd experienced the same thing. Couldn't tell.

There was one huge black horse and two white wolves waiting for them. Beyond that, a silvery slick path leading outward and onward.

He was finally moving. Out.


	10. The Wild Field (Part Two)

_N.B. Figure we're down to one or two more chapters after this. It's been real. My book's bearing down on me. _

* * *

><p>The horse was black. The two wolves were ice-white, white as glory.<p>

"Meridian!" Caelyn gasped. He ran and flung his misshapen hands around the mare's neck. The wolves looked up from grazing —

_Wolves eat grass? _

And rippled into the form of two other black horses.

Lucian's hands had a spasm around his guns.

He glanced at Malcolm again. He didn't think of himself as a talker, but here he was, wanting to say something so badly it made his tongue itch and burn. _Did you see that? I never want to be a hooker._

His skin writhed. He approached one of the wolf-horses, put a hand on its side, and flinched back. Impure. Unholy.

Worse than the people of Noxus.

_And Malcolm, have you ever wanted to take a bath in lava? To get the corruption off your skin?_

Caelyn helped Erinae onto Meridian's back. Malcolm swung onto one of the black horses with a shrug.

Then Caelyn turned to Lucian and said shyly, "Y'know, they used t'consider me the fifth horseman. Pestilence, War, Death, Famine and me. Destruction." It was said in the same voice as something like _I was a top student at school. Master was very proud. _

Lucian forced a smile and nodded. He focused on Senna and mounted the horse, felt the mild wind brush his cheekbones.

He expected his legs to burst into flame. Holy touching unholy. But nothing happened, save the horses moving forward.

_Senna will understand. _He was tempted to think she'd say _if you had to use demons to get me, you shouldn't've gotten me. _

But he knew. He knew that was putting words into her mouth, ones she wouldn't say.

* * *

><p>It bothered him. Stuck with him.<p>

He was used to forgetting. He forgot the teary faces of the young groundskeepers when he told the hotel owner _the ghost is gone at last. _The ghost had been the groundskeepers' grandpa, the hotel owner's nuisance. Or he forgot the demons' wails of _stop hurting me, please, I'm j – j - just hungry…_

But the child hooker thing. He glanced at Erinae. Man, that was fucked.

Just being held down and —

Ugh.

They stopped for lunch. Saltines and smoked fish, spread out on the thick sweet grass. The view hadn't changed — except the looming monstrous orb looked like there was a thunderstorm on it now. Strobing red and dark blue. It made him feel tiny. Beyond tiny. Scared.

"Oh." Caelyn dug through his pack.

Malcolm noticed one of Daddy's shirts and red ties peeking out and sighed heavily. _Had to have something with his scent on it. Animals._

Foxboy handed the gunslingers each a notebook and pen. "Here. F'got. I always have an extra one or two."

Lucian snatched it, grateful, then asked Graves under the dome of gray sky, _Did you see the thing with Erin?_

Erin read over his shoulder. She cocked her head. "What thing with Erin, Lucky?"

Lucian's pen paused. _Don't upset your guides. Don't upset them. Shit. _

Graves was frowning at him, but Lucian couldn't tell — was he faking it? His handwriting was coarse. _didn't see shit, Lucky. _

_ Alright. _He thought he felt a man's rough hand on his shoulders and swatted at it.

That - damn. That was the ultimate impurity.

"His Excellent Holiness and His Majesty carved a temporary spoke straight through the Center World. Since we were in the Northern one and she's in the Southern." Caelyn nodded, shivery. "We'll reach the Star-Child Rope — hopefully t'night or the next one."

Lucian glanced at the enormous, rolling plain. Then at the jagged black mountains. They hadn't budged for the four hours they'd traveled.

_I trust you, _he wrote. _Thank you very much for helping me. _He watched Caelyn's face light up and clenched his jaw.

* * *

><p>The plains — there wasn't a lack of sound. He could hear the horses' (?) hooves and breaths, the flap of Graves' cloak. But there was no birdsong. Just a low whispering wind.<p>

And he heard Caelyn's soft murmuring, trying to convince Erinae to marry Jayce. To make the big, strong, handsome man in her life happy. At her own expense.

Caelyn relished the feeling of the sun on his cheeks. _No more of t'dark. _"Y'should be flattered, after all. He's tying himself down, too."

Erinae buried her nose in Caelyn's shoulders. "But see. He only wants me. And I like a buncha people who like me back. No one else likes him because he's a dweeb.

"Hmmm. I — I mean, y'know I'm married. Sir just wanted t'prove his missed me, I think. I worried and worried he didn't. Then I prayed he didn't." Caelyn kissed her forehead. "But he lets me have him, you, Ryan _and _this ring." The priceless black heritage diamonds twinkled among the scars.

"Jayce wouldn't do that though." She sighed. "Wants me to keep me. Even if he let me, I think he'd pout. And I'd kick him in the junk."

_How horrible their lives must be to revolve around the regard of one person, _Lucian thought, feeling a little self-righteous. _That's all they ever think about. Pleasing 'Him.'_

Then he flinched when he heard a voice say, _They're not different from you, Prayer-Boy. _

He paused. Looked at Malcolm Graves again, who was dozing, fingers buried in the soft black fur of his horse. He wouldn't've cared if a no-eyed legless succubus had turned into that horse, Lucian bet. The Outlaw didn't care.

_His sense of morality is stronger than yours, too. _

He paused again. He wanted to clear his throat, didn't. Remembered King Ryland II saying _Just try to avoid talking, _then cleared his throat. He said very softly, "Hey."

"Hmm?" Caelyn looked to him and smiled.

"Are you — is there any telepathy thing going on?"

"Not that I'm aware of. You alright? Hungry, thirsty —"

Lucian shook his head.

_See? You wouldn't've saved him. But he cares for you._

The wind was whispering in his ears again. It sounded like Senna.

He remembered Malcolm saying, _She's going to be pissed. I know my wife would be._

His chest began to ache. He forced himself to look up at the bruise-planet, though the skin along his arms crept like snakes. _Senna? _

She was silent.

_That was you, wasn't it? Senna? _

_ I'm tired of thinking it's you. I know it isn't. Just voices in my head, going crazy down here…_

It was her. He wanted to cry out, yelp. He settled for digging his fingers deeper into his horse's mane. The white sun scalded his face.

_I'm coming to help you. I am_. He felt a burst of triumph. He could save her for once. He could be the knight riding in to save his lady. Not the one waiting for her.

He noticed Caelyn and Erinae watching him.

Caelyn nodded. "It's v – very noble t – to want to be the hero. But chances are, if you never have been, you won't be. No matter what."

_What? _Lucian blinked.

Senna chuckled. _Kid's right, Prayer-Boy. _

_ Yeah. Sure. That's why I'm on this horse-demon bullshit thing right now coming to get you. _

_ So compassionate. _Senna laughed louder, and Lucian's nails dug into his palms. She was pissed.

Caelyn looked away with a tiny sigh. The black hilt of his sword glowed bright. "I do wish they didn't think my pets were demons."

"They ain't." Graves shrugged, spoke very quietly. "They're just animals to me. Different type."

Lucian opened his mouth to retort and snapped it shut. The wind kept blowing, but Senna's voice vanished. For the moment.

* * *

><p>He liked having a plan. Writing things down. So he began to plan his apology. Had she been with him — and not pissed — she would've swatted his ear, saying <em>that's supposed to be spontaneous.<em>

But she wasn't here. And she was mad.

He held down the fluttering pages and wrote, _Senna, not a day has gone by that I didn't think of you. The world was much darker, crueler without your presence. But more than just saving your goodness, I wanted you back. Your laugh, your smile. _

_ And if we're being honest, for you to tell me it was all alright. _

"Mmm." Caelyn nodded. There was telepathy shit going on now, that was for certain, as the wind picked up speed and the bell-clear air began to taste slightly burnt. Like thunder. The 'horses' pressed on, undaunted. "Understandable, Sir Lucian."

Lucian's pencil paused.

"Reassurance is a key component of my relationship. What about yours, Erin?"

"Heh." She was blushing now, her arms wrapped around Caelyn's ribs. "Yeh. _Tell me I'm pretty, Defender-Man. Tell me ten-billion times._ He likes doing it. Or telling me he loves me until I get sick of it and punch him in the face."

_Oh, man. _

"With Sir I always sought not to ask for it. But following my return from the dead, it was — well — you know." Caelyn was blushing too. "I wanted to know that I was alive. The physical parts helped with that. Gentleness. And I wanted to know that I wouldn't have to tolerate life without him ever again."

Lucian furiously scratched a sentence. _So what about when he dies? __This again?_

Graves' smug smile — he liked seeing Prayer-Boy squirm — turned to a frown. He shook his head hard.

Caelyn's lips moved as he read the text. The light in his eyes dimmed. "A fair point, m'lord. But he shan't, or if he does, I'd die immediately thereafter anyway."

Lucian's eyebrows rose.

"We're physically bound." Caelyn's lips pressed together. He looked away. "For good. Both ways this time. He insisted. Said he couldn't bear to lose me."

He wanted to snap _that's wrong, _looked at the huge bruise-planet, thought of being a Noxian child hooker, and ground his teeth. The wind made his pants flap painfully against his legs.

Graves nudged his horse closer to Lucian's, snatched at the pages, and scratched _You need to relax. She's going to be mad. Be a man. Deal with it. _

_ I live to serve the light. _

_ The light touches all. The Wheel turns. _Malcolm stuck the pencil between his lips and pointed at each word.

_That's surprisingly philosophical. _

_ You think I am stupid. okay. Fate thought the same thing._

It took Lucian a moment to translate. Twisted Fate, the Cardmaster. Not Fate as in the Grand Fate.

_They both thought so. Sent me with them thinking I would help end the Wheel by making Ezreal mad. They were wrong. _

Lucian stared at him. Graves grunted, then gently stroked behind his horse's ears.

* * *

><p>Safety, to him, was the greatest virtue. He lived to serve the light. He didn't like hurting people. He wanted everyone to have a home, a safe home, they could return to every day after hours of labor, mending things. A family of some sort — brothers, neighbors, villagers, whomever — to break bread and share stories with. Laughter, love.<p>

He wasn't some ruthless vigilante with a gun. Not out for personal gain. He prayed to the angels to spare everyone, to comfort the souls in hell.

Senna caught him in the latter prayer once. "You're praying for the people in hell? That doesn't even make sense."

"Senna." It was complicated. He searched for words while she stood there in a towel, waiting patiently. "People make mistakes. Life is hard. Divine judgment happens. But there should still be some measure of mercy."

"For everyone?" she asked. "Even the worst people in the world? Murderers, scammers, slavers, child molesters?" He winced with every title.

"Yes. I believe so. It's hard for me."

"Why's that?" She sat beside him, looking curious. Snow was falling outside their window, tinted with the festive lights. Red, orange, blue. Always lights shifting around Senna — a kaleidoscope, butterfly wings. She lived near the light. Reflected it.

"Because — they hurt other people. They make them unhappy. It makes me angry, that they'd do that."

He was thinking of the five thugs he'd seen out his window, dozing off while playing with his toy soldiers. Heartless coyotes. _Heartless fucking coyotes. _Wearing black at night. He'd felt groggy, thought nothing of telling his parents.

Then the bright-red wreath of flames plumed up around him. Mother running into his room — the sickening _cr-crack _of the roof falling through. She picked him up, dragged him. Daddy (his real Daddy) was lying down with uncle. Their watches were melting through their skin. Liquid silver through brown. White hot inferno. Mother couldn't move anymore. Fell to her knees, whispered into his ear

_It's all gonna be alright. It's going to be alright._

_Just close your eyes, baby. Close 'em._

_It's going to be alright._

He was whispering the words. Senna undid her towel, revealing her healthy warm naked body, and wrapped him in it with her, kissing him. Affirmation he was alive.

* * *

><p>So that was why he couldn't find it in him to like Foxboy. To pity him. To think there was good in him at all. He'd've prayed for his soul, technically. But knowing all those people were hurt because of him, endless pouring fire, scars deep in the flesh of Demacia that would never heal…<p>

He glanced at the red glow around the boy's sword hilt. Leftover angel blood, maybe.

_Can't do it. _

* * *

><p>The light turning to red startled all of them. Erinae buried herself fully and completely in Caelyn's back. Lucian and Graves shielded their eyes. The light — it made the entire world look like blood. Scorched hellfire. The mountains like giant blades. Lucian couldn't tell if he was black and Graves was white, it was all so red.<p>

But Caelyn glanced back at them, white eyes glinting, weird. "Consider it the sunset, or an eclipse."

Lucian's stomach felt like it was burning a hole right through his intestines. He nodded.

"I know it be a bit weird, b – but I do I - int – intend to protect you all."

_Yeah. Now that you and Master are safe._

"Aye, that be the idea." Caelyn smiled. It was slightly less bright.

The thunder made them all jump. Including the horses.

_Cr-crack_.

_Is that it? Did I make him unhappy enough? That was quick. _He didn't know why he was relieved.

"I'm fine, Sir Lucian." Caelyn had to talk loudly over the rising wind. "B'lieve every place ever's got some sort of weather phenomenon."

The rain came slanting in after that. After him, like it had a will. Up his nose. Down his throat. Like it was trying to drown him. Choke him. He thought he felt more rough Noxian hands on him and swatted at them.

Malcolm was tugging on his horse, pulling it down. Caelyn was setting up the tent (_one tent? Damnit_) with dexterous hands. Blindly. Following his fiery strikes he sometimes couldn't see 16 hours afterward. Prime target for sexual assault, for Noxians.

Lucian saw — the animals vanished. _Puff. _Black vapor. Smoke. From solid to spirit.

_This is horrifying. _

_You haven't been to see me yet, _Senna whispered. He gasped and tugged at his throat, choking.

Then they were all cramped inside.

* * *

><p><em>Safety is the greatest virtue, <em>he thought. The rain hurt his ears. The only light was from Caelyn's silver eyes and Erinae's gold ones.

_Yeah? _Senna's voice cut through the rain._ Probably why you ran away, isn't it. Pretty safe._

_Senna, I'm sorry. _There went his scripted apology. _I just am. I left you. _He glanced down at the warm weight on his chest. Erinae glanced up and scowled at him.

"It's too small to lay anywhere else. You gotta problem, Luck-ass?"

_Not at all, _he tried to think to her. He looked at her frail collarbone, her cheekbones, thinking of the record of all those rough hands. How many had left an imprint, a mark in clay? _I feel very bad for you. _There. That was compassion for someone impure. He felt better. _You've had a hard life. _

She lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks, I guess. I don't need your pity though."

"Mayhap not, but you do have my compassion." He began to rub her shoulders, remembered all her customers, and snatched his hand away. She yawned, purred, closed her eyes.

_This is what they saw. Then they saw fit to besmirch this purity. This child. _

Erinae snorted. "Geez, man. It's alright. It was a while ago. I'm fine."

He closed his eyes, too. Listened to the thunderous current of rain. Thought of the enormous glowing orb in the sky, prayed it wasn't falling.

Then he glanced to his side. Caelyn had his nose buried in the Outlaw's neck, shivering. Lucian watched Graves' large hand run up Caelyn's skinny spine, then down. Scratching behind his ear like he was a dog. The purr was audible over the rain.

Lucian sought for his notebook then scratched _It doesn't bother you? _And put the page over Malcolm's face.

Malcolm snatched the book, frowned, then wrote_ cant tell what the fuck your talking about half the damn time Lucky. _

_I just don't get it, _he wrote. _How you can pity something like that. _

Graves scowled down at the letters, then closed his eyes.

Nothing happened.

He wrote, _You cant here me? _

_Nope, _Lucian wrote.

_Great. No. Does not bother me. Sympathise with others is a good thing. _

_How can you sympathize? _

Malcolm Graves' scowl darkened. _Telling me Im more sensitive than you Lucky. _

_Just answer me: how? _

_Common Ground__. You have it with everyone. Everyone has it with everyone._

He was stubborn. Senna loved and hated it. _An example, please. I don't see the Outlaw having too much in common with an undead demon twink pyromancer, sorry._

He watched Graves' lips move slowly across the letters. The rain sounded like static, a million cymbals crashing.

Graves sighed heavily, wrote, _Common Ground__: Killed who we had to. Lots of people hate us. Not many like us. Out to help people. Outcasts. Living somewhere we weren't born. Orphans. Live by laws we think are important. Hard to know. _

Lucian read it with a frown.

Then Graves rolled his eyes and wrote, _Sound like anyone else you know? _

_Nope. _

Malcolm shook his head, snapped the notebook shut, then returned to rubbing Caelyn's back.

* * *

><p>Sleep. Like food, there was the good and bad, delicious decadence and boring, everyday fare. This was Lucian's first night asleep on the Wheel.<p>

The dream was brief for once.

It was a meeting with Senna.

She sat on a rugged, broken-down wooden chair, looking away from him. They were in a mild forest clearing. The lean light-green branches formed a curtain around them, the sky black and free as her unbound hair.

She was naked. He stood shirtless, confused until he heard her voice.

"Coming for me, huh?"

"Aye. Yes. I am. I intend to bring you back."

"Like I'm some sort of princess, right. Your princess."

He said nothing.

"Be real with me. You're not coming back for me. You're coming for you. So you can say _I didn't run_."

His heart stirred.

"No. I'm coming back because I love you and it's the right thing to do."

"Right," she murmured. "The right thing. It's the right thing. So you wasted two years why, exactly?"

He awoke in a warm, thick sweat.

* * *

><p>Malcolm Graves was dreaming of something else.<p>

Catgirl — he hated to say it, but damn. She looked like Melena down to the little gap between her eye-teeth and incisors. The same smile — quick, bright, but a little mysterious. The same long legs.

Though Melena had been unfreckled, the only real difference was their eyes. His dead wife's had been a lucid gray-blue, like a spring lake reflecting a storm-cloud, and Erinae's were tawny gold.

He wasn't too surprised to sleep and find himself standing outside Jack's Tavern, on the very very outskirts of Piltover. A rugged, broken-down slat-roofed sonofabitch, with sawdust ringing it and shouting inside it. The night sky was black, wild, grand and free.

_Yep. Wheel turns. I remember this._

He grimaced and pushed through the double-doors.

He saw Foxboy and General Falin in the back corner away from everyone, wearing different colors of plaid and sharing a large pitcher of beer. Caelyn was blushing like a schoolgirl and not a war hero. General Falin looked up, nodded. _Thank you for taking care of him. _

_You're welcome. _But if this was what he thought it was —

Yep.

"Hey! Look, don't touch, alright?" Melena's voice. The same pitch as Catgirl's, different accent. Same instrument in a different key.

If he was interested in giving Jayce marriage advice, one of the first things would be _you better give them room to roam a little or they'll leave your ass. _General Falin would probably put it some fancy snobby way. _Their hearts are overgrown with wilderness, and animals are given to many prospects…_

Graves shook himself. Same thing. Common ground.

For Melena, roaming meant putting on her Sunday best and going to Jack's tap. The one pair of diamond earrings Malcolm worked his ass off to afford. Those gray smoke stockings that ended right at the boundary of her light-blue silk skirt. He loved those stockings.

It meant flirting with other guys while Malcolm sat two or three tables down and whooped these rough-necks' asses at cards.

A man's low rumbling voice. Eyes glinting like a coyote. A huge leathery hand sneaking between Melena's thighs to press the flesh there. Then another man's reaching over and patting her ass. Then smacking it.

The wild look of fear — was that the same as Catgirl's? Or was she just used to it? — chilled Malcolm. Especially when three more joined in. Surrounding her like a pack of wild dogs.

_I remember._

He strode over to her, six long steps, and slapped the nearest one on the back. "The hell you all think you're doing?"

"Admiring this young lady here. She's got a lovely bunch of skin showing, don't you agree?" The man's scraggly black patch of beard looked like pubes. His breath was rank.

"I'll have you know that young lady's mine. My wife." The words _my wife_ made him feel warm. Always had. Always would, even if his baby girl was buried in a shallow sandy grave, her soul lost deep in the star-cruxes of the Wheel.

"This is your wife, showing herself off and shakin' her ass at us? You let that happen? She's askin' for it."

The words would still be the same. "I let her do as she damn well pleases."

"You let her be a little slut?" Another one guffawed. The whole bar fell silent.

Then — he remembered. One of them grabbed Melena's right tit and she yipped. Another put hands around her waist, murmuring _come here for a little piece of this, honey_, and another was slipping greedy fingers in between her legs.

And Graves unslung his massive gun, cocked it. When they didn't stop — maybe they thought he was joking , or maybe they were still bound by his memories — he blew the first one's head off. Then the next. Then the next. The last two gaped up at him before he blew them away, too.

Their bodies folded, sighing. The bar's thick air was hazed, bitter with gunpowder.

Through the fog, he thought he saw General Falin nod, Caelyn shivering against him. There was no saving that creepy fuck, but still. There was common ground.

Then he looked at her and remembered. That look of fear — those two tears glimmering at the corners of her storm-colored eyes. Terror.

"It's alright. It's all alright."

Melena fell on his chest with a shiver and he woke up.

* * *

><p><em>Common ground, <em>Lucian thought in the morning. In the same gray sky, the glistening orb was nearer. So was Senna. For whatever that meant.

His chest felt taut, ugly. Tight for no reason.

Another chuckle from Senna. _There's a really good reason. It's that what's right isn't always what's right. _

_That's stupid. _

_Ultimate Goodness said that you sometimes need to shift your gaze. _

There was no real way to shift his gaze so that the orb didn't burn into his eyes. Even with all the pressure from the others - subjective nature of reality, pity, compassion - being near the Reject Star-Children hurt. Physically hurt. They hurt his eyes to look at, his chest, knowing that they were near.

He glanced at Caelyn, who he'd begun to think of as Ultimate Evil. He was letting Erinae lead Meridian now, dozing into her golden hair.

Whether he wanted to find Senna and return her — he was no longer sure — the encounter would happen soon. Regardless of his will. He liked that, even though he was beneath the bruise-planet, exposed. Out.

Would he leave her? Shoot her instead, kill her for good, and claim his duty done? See her, speak to her, and turn the gun on himself?

Stay with her?

Be the hero and tell her it was alright?

He gritted his teeth against the wind the way Malcolm was. Common ground.


	11. The Fourth Time (Wild Field pt 3)

_N.B. __**Thank you for reading**__.__** All the words in the world cannot explain how grateful I am.**__ I've come to the conclusion that leaving you guys isn't going to get any easier, no matter how small or irrelevant these little pieces are. Cripes. There'll be a brief Epilogue following this. _

* * *

><p><em>Sir Malcolm is comfortable to sleep on. <em>Caelyn shielded his eyes and looked up at the big bruise planet in the white sky. Looming. Enormous. But he was used to feeling tiny. To him, the wind on the featureless plains was fresh and clean. Not painful.

_Lucky ain't comfortable. Not even with himself. _Erinae glanced behind her, at the black man on the black horse. He had his face down, enduring the wind instead of embracing it.

_I pity that man, having to live without his wife. It's got to be a horrible feeling. Master described it as a depthless hole in his heart. A sea of black._

Erinae sighed. _So damn romantic. Jayce ain't like that. _

_ To be fair, miss, you aren't like that to him. You still call him stupid._

_ He is stupid. You telling me you haven't been called stupid? _She was uncomfortable. She and Jayce argued in front of Dem and Caelyn pretty regularly. Caelyn watched with curious eyes, while Demetrius ignored them, sipping his tea or coffee and reading his books. _Not once? _

_ He's called my actions stupid. Some of his last words while I died. "This is the stupidest thing you've ever done, child." He wasn't wrong. _

_ You two argue? Ever?_

_ Sometimes. Very quietly. I've hit him before. And bit him. Hard. _Caelyn blushed. _He's never hit me much. Absolute last resort. Only because I was hurting myself. _

_ That's what they all say. 'I'm only doing this because you're hurting yourself.'_

_ Oh, no, it was always quite literal. Tearing at my arms and legs. _

Erinae sighed. _I just —_

_ You just, _Caelyn thought. He looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. She swatted him. _I really think you should marry Jayce._

_ Yeh? And I think you should shut your damn mouth. I ain't a slave. _

_ He's such a good man. _Caelyn sighed.

_ Hey. Hands off, alright? _

_ Shhh. Listen. _They both cocked their heads to the right. Luck-Dude's thoughts were becoming too forceful, too loud, to ignore.

His thoughts were furious, blowing by like the wind. _I've made a mistake. All my life I've sought purity. Bringing her back in a reduced form is an insult to her memory…But can I live with the dry fever behind my eyes? In my head? Listening for the tone of her voice? _

The wind whipped and howled.

And that fog, the undead haze that was going to be in her eyes. Mold on the inside of a jar of warm molasses. _How can I love her with that light gone? The only reason that pedophile can love that broken-down pile of rags is that neither of them can be saved. _

Caelyn nodded and thought to Erinae. _I've felt the way he does before. Not — not necessarily about Sir loving me. _

_ Felt like I'm about to kick his ass? _Erinae scowled.

_He's clinging to his belief. The Wheel turns and you have to adapt, but sometimes you dig your fingernails in and cling. Time keeps fleeing, you know? _

_ Ugh._

_ Master put it best._

_ Surprise._

He swatted her. '_Only those who live in the light are afraid to close their eyes.'_

_ That's some real _ta – aikah _shit right there. _

_ Ta – shakti tante. _Caelyn nodded. _Our masters turn the Wheel. _

* * *

><p>High in the castle, King Ryland II, Ezreal, Demetrius, Jayce and Luxanna sat around a chess board. Rain — slow, soft — was trickling down the castle's black stones. A quiet, soothing whisper.<p>

When the clock struck three, Everett served them tea. His white shirt and shiny black shoes glistened. He poured the wildberry grey for them, then stared up at Ryland with wide blue eyes. He was as patient as a little sphinx.

Ryland blushed and placed a hand on his head. "Thank you, child."

"You're most welcome, your highness. It's my pleasure." Everett leaned into Ryland's hand, nuzzled it. And smiled warmly — a rare sight.

When their son was gone, Luxanna kissed Ezreal's cheek. She was sleepy from rain and cold depression. The golden-rabbit fur blanket on her shoulders was a gift from General Demetrius Falin.

Luxanna and Demetrius were unlikely friends. But friends they were.

At first it worried Ezreal — tore his stomach to bright burning shreds. After all, General Demetrius Falin was well-bred, well-mannered, handsome beyond belief. _And, _Ezreal thought, _I'm none of that. _

But with the relationship counseling with Soraka — and King Ryland II's insistence that Demetrius hadn't touched anyone besides Caelyn in a decade — Ezreal became used to it. Used to the small, panting fox snuggled in her lap during those conversations as well.

Besides. Luxanna could speak freely to Demetrius about the Noxian-Demacian war. Ezreal heard them laughing about failed campaigns. Or else she spoke to Demetrius of her return from death — both that and the war were topics that upset Ezreal.

And Demetrius, deeply amused by Caelyn's animal adoration of the princess, was happy speak to her. Happy to watch his pet fox's bushy tail swishing, as Caelyn prayed with all his tiny animal heart that Master and Luxanna kiss.

Luxanna was a _b - beautiful p – p - princess_, after all.

In the present, King Ryland II was frowning over the chessboard, Demetrius quietly smiling.

Jayce dug at his arms, nibbled his nails. His eyes were red, mauled by lack of sleep. Then he blurted, "How could you let her leave?"

"She will be fine," Demetrius said absently. He watched Ryland move a piece and snickered.

Ryland's gray-green eyes flicked to his. "This isn't my game."

"It's quite alright, your highness. I enjoy playing against you nonetheless."

"Oh," Ryland said. "I'm sure you do."

"It would be a poor advisor who couldn't beat his King in chess, anyway."

"How do you know she'll be fine?" Jayce glared at Demetrius, who refused to glare back.

"Besides being an intelligent and resourceful young lady, Malcolm Graves is with them. I believe many underestimate the man."

"Because you think he's cute?" Jayce's face darkened.

"Jayce sounds like me from two years ago," Ezreal murmured. Luxanna chuckled.

"I think he's cute," Ryland said quietly. The chessboard was completely baffling.

"Not my type, frankly." Demetrius nodded. "Quiet, reserved, but strong and understanding. All traits I admire."

"Apparently Erin looks like his dead wife."

"The resemblance is quite strong."

"He better keep his hands off of her." Jayce glared harder. "Caelyn, too."

Demetrius arched an eyebrow. "Caelyn's got no such prerogative."

Jayce licked his lips and leaned forward. _Finally. He'll talk about it. _"You told him it was alright."

"Not quite. Caelyn approached me one morning with mussed hair, swollen lips, love-bites and a simple question — _Master, Erinae has approached me and, given that I've never had women interested in me before, it's rather tempting. Shall I refrain? Am I allowed to touch her at all? It is your will, of course_. And you know what I said?"

"That he should fuck her."

"Absolutely not." Demetrius placed the bishop down a bit too hard. Ryland quickly readjusted the pieces. "I said, _Love, you and Erinae are both thinking, functioning, more or less rational beings. Pursue what would be pleasurable and safe for you both._ _If she's gentle with you and you enjoy yourselves, I see no harm in it._"

"He's your — that sort of thinking blows my mind."

"Why, exactly? In the words of Erinae, _it's good for Foxboy's nerves an' shit_."

Luxanna cackled at the accent imitation. Ezreal watched the laughter on her face and smiled too. She was gorgeous. He loved her, loved having her by his side.

"She feels a strong connection to him. Besides being born of the same celestial accident, she enjoys exploring the possibilities with a truly submissive partner."

Jayce straightened his professor tie, determined to remain silent. But he said it anyway — he was too used to speaking freely with Demetrius. Same as Lux. "Oh? What if he liked her more than you?"

"In that arena? I wouldn't mind at all. I've got my suspicions that the boy's somewhat heterosexual." Demetrius nodded to Luxanna, who blushed.

"No. Just — entirely. Loved Erinae more than he loved you."

"That wouldn't happen," Demetrius said calmly. "Same as it wouldn't for Erinae. If you, of course, let it be that way."

"What do you mean?"

Ezreal and Ryland exchanged glances. _This is the angriest I've heard Demetrius, and he sounds like he's talking to a waiter who got his order wrong. _

_ Aye. _Ryland snorted. _He's not the angry type._

"One of your arguments is that she should marry you because you two are reflections of Caelyn and I, correct?"

Jayce flushed. "That did play into my considerations, yes."

"You and I differ in several key areas, however, not the least of which on our views of monogamy. But there is one area in particular you suffer."

"If it's the sex —"

Demetrius snorted. "My lord. You can tell he's dating Erin the Riv. Can't you, your majesty?"

"Don't drag me into this." Ryland chuckled and moved another piece.

"You've got no faith in her, Jayce. None."

Jayce gaped. "What?"

"You don't trust her with anything. At all."

"That's — no. She's telling you wrong."

"And here's where we arrive at another point — truth is subjective."

"I _know _that —"

Demetrius' voice was gentle, but had a sharp edge to it. "Then you should know her point of view is what matters in this case. And not your university degrees."

Ryland and Ezreal tried not to laugh. Luxanna couldn't help it.

"You're surprised she can do math, Sir Jayce."

"That's —"

"You know she can do pre-calculus, correct? That she is an accomplished reader and fair writer as well?"

"She can write?"

Lux threw back her head and laughed hard. Jayce gaped.

Demetrius leveled his gaze. "There is a difficult line between compassion and condescension, and you're not even trying to walk it."

"I'm surprised you trust Caelyn to tie his shoes!"

Demetrius gripped the chessboard. "My dear, sweet Jayce. General Caelyn Falin acted as fourth-in-command of Noxus for a long while, secondary Tactician, and led the armed forces in many successful strikes."

"It's not hard to win when you _blow everything up_."

Demetrius was too polite to speak over him. "Besides all that, he is a fantastic cook and botanist. Quite a change from the shivery starving thing I found locked in a cupboard, all skin and bones. Abandoned because he couldn't stop nibbling his mother's dresses."

Ryland looked away. "That's so sad."

Luxanna murmured agreement. She remembered, long ago, Caelyn nuzzling her in a chilly dark Noxian jail cell, steeped in the blood of her comrades. Nipping her white prisoner's gown. Then shuddering and apologizing. _S – sorry. I just get s'nervous a – around pretty girls. _That had made her laugh — the absurdity of it. She hugged him tight. He squeaked.

In the present, she sighed. "It does explain why he's so eager for my attention."

"I think his attraction to you is a very complicated issue," Demetrius said. "For instance, quote, _she be the female version of her cousin, Ryan White. S'now I don't have t'feel bad for bein' a complete homo_. _Both of 'ems hot, fine as hell._"

Lux snorted. Ryland grinned.

Jayce scowled. "What does this have to do with Erinae exactly?"

"He went from that little shivery thing to a warrior because I didn't discourage him. I never told him he had to be a tactician or I'd leave him — I was happy to have a little fox sleeping on my slippers in the morning. Same as you would be happy to let Erin remain a carefree companion." Demetrius shook his finger. "But I also never told Caelyn _there's no way you understand tactics _or _a Willow-Dove's place is in the kitchen and beneath my desk_."

Ezreal hid his face in his hands and groaned, thinking of his son.

"And that's precisely what you do to Erin."

"No. _Hell _no. I've never called her stupid."

"You expressed awe and disbelief for two hours after she balanced your checkbook," Demetrius snapped.

"There were a lot of zeroes!"

"And you've _got_ to give her space. Consider the lovely Luxanna and Ezreal."

Ezreal blinked.

"Though they are confined to a similar model of thought that you are — monogamy, of course —Ezreal's natural possessiveness has been curbed by —"

"You're making my head hurt a little, General Falin." Luxanna smiled.

"Ezreal allows you breathing space. For our conversations in Caelyn's company. Believe me — I understand the urge to cling when you've lost someone and found them again. It's very mature of you, Ezreal."

Ezreal was blushing. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome. Jayce." Demetrius the Tactician leaned over the board and took Jayce's arm. "Let Erin breathe. The Wheel's a large place."

"That's what I mean! The Wheel always picks you! With the thread and — and the space horse and — that dream you had where you saw them chasing one another through the galaxy. I don't get _any _of that. I dream of her pinned under a bunch of rapists, or her tiger fur being torn to shreds or the robots ripping her legs off and —" Jayce realized with horror he was on the verge of tears.

Ryland and Ezreal traded glances again.

Demetrius tapped his fingers along the chessboard. "Have you tried praying to it?"

"Praying to what? The old gods are gone."

"The Wheel itself. I do it. I realize there are things larger than myself, than logic. I'm not a spiritual man, for the most part."

"But you pray to it." Jayce's voice was flat.

"Aye. I pray to make up lost time. Nightly I say _Please, let me be part of his life since I wasn't for so long. Since I allowed him to slaughter the thousands without protecting his wild heart, since I did nothing for him while he wept for me, cried out for me in the dark. Please have pity on him. He's hurt._"

Ezreal's chest ached. He saw Ryland watching him. The hurt deepened.

Demetrius went on. "And so Caelyn and I meet in our sleep. In fields. On mountains. In abandoned castles. Or last night, in Malcolm Graves' memories. It was nice — though I've never seen a bar that shabby. And the comment _careful, pardner, that there red-head looks like a guy _was baffling, to say the least."

Ryland choked on his tea.

"Maybe we should try that," Ezreal murmured. "Praying to it." His fists were clenched on the blanket. He often dreamt of Luxanna being ripped away. Of his son. He was relieved when Lux nodded.

"So." Demetrius sighed into his tea. "I treat the Wheel like a living organism. It has self-reparation like a body cell. It can be cruel and kind. So, just as I do with the Doves — and just as you should do with Erinae —"

"Treat it with respect. Like a person. A living being. Believe in it." Jayce looked at his hands.

"I've no doubt the Wheel's grateful to you." Demetrius nodded. "Give prayer a try, I implore you."

"That's an interesting thought." King Ryland II cocked his head. "It'll be strange, praying again. Away from Demacia."

"And I've got a good idea as to what you should pray for, your highness." Demetrius nodded again.

"Hm?"

"Your pitiful skill at chess." The Tactician smiled warmly.

Jayce was frowning down at the floor, deep in thought. Then he looked at Ezreal, who was playing with Lux's hair. He remembered Ezreal sitting at his feet, looking up at him with wordless admiration, then frustration and fury when Jayce didn't hug him. Didn't believe. _I thought y'wanted me to be smart!_

_I can't let that happen again. _

Ryland looked back down at the board and clicked his tongue. Bored with winning, the Tactician had arranged his black pieces into a Wheel.

"Fair enough."

* * *

><p>Fury.<p>

No, fury wasn't pure. There was no place for it inside him, so it pushed and pushed against his chest. It felt like a hot-air balloon expanding. It felt like a fire burning.

_I fucked up. Again. I can't leave her again._

_ But how will I love her if her skin smells of earth? If the ends of her hair are rotted? _

He snuck a glance at Caelyn. Hard to tell if he was alright — his scarred hands, the white lightning-shaped scars dancing along his arms. A demon to begin with.

_She'll be fine. She was never pure. She won't be pure. I tried to make her. But now I can't. How will I love her? How will it be alright? _

He was so lost in the maelstrom of worry and hate he didn't notice they were at an edge.

The mild field and the black mountains vanished abruptly. His toes dangled out into the void. He looked out, thought of being a Noxian child whore — powerless — and quivered.

The first thing anyone noticed — stars. Twinkling, grains of shining sea-glass on a dark, stormy shore. He thought of the soft white lights in the darkwood pines at his and Senna's wedding. How they sparkled against the snow. He clutched his heart.

The tunnel before him was translucent, red and gold swirls along walls and a floor that looked like thick icing glass. Lucian glanced to the side of the tunnel, at the bruise-planet, which was now across from them.

There, a pale green Aurora with fingers colored like budding willow leaves. The Lightbringer's prayers. Prayers for this literally god-forsaken world.

He saw the Abomination waiting for his approval, standing on tiptoe and leaning towards him. He shoved past him, desperate for the deed to be done.

When she returned — he'd die, maybe.

_Thrust into t'Wheel – ain't it grand? _

"Sir Lucian!"

Lucian ignored the shivery voice.

"If you had the experience of Erinae — I'm not sure —"

He ignored him. But with each step he took, he felt his consciousness fading. To a heartbeat, a soft whisper like the rain in springtide, like Senna's hand on his brow.

* * *

><p><em>Purity — all I've ever wanted was purity — for Her to tell me it was alright — for Him to tell me it was alright — <em>

* * *

><p>He looked down at black tiles with golden Ionian designs on them. Down at hands that were small, scarred with fresh, ugly, bleeding black-red-purple cuts. <em>The bruise-planet's colored with the Reject Star-Children's hurt, <em>he thought randomly. The words floated out of his ears.

And the skin laced between the scars was white as milk. _Oh, no. I like being black. _

He had on a green silk waistcoat, too, one with a fancy silver-threaded hem. Expensive black shoes. He realized with rising horror it wasn't his own body. He knew this for sure because —

Blood. He was short and skinny and wanted blood. It was like craving a rootbeer float or one of Senna's apple pies but millions of times stronger.

He gaped at the proud black-marble statues of war stallions, the lush red-blue flowers. The windows were black, the night sky thick. Isolation. Flower petals glowing, rich as oil paintings. Glittering softly — he'd used power to_ make them nice_ and that was why he wanted blood. Pushing himself too far, to _make them nice. _

A shiver seized him. He sank to his knees, shuddering, panting. His mouth was parched.

Heavy footsteps. A door opening. _Lord. There you are. I thought I'd lost you in my own damn house. I know I'm incompetent but that — that sounds ridiculous. Ah. Never mind. I'll stop rambling. _Hesitation, then being picked up and held close.

_Oh, hell no, _Lucian thought. He hadn't been carried in decades.

But instead of squirming like he commanded his body to, he went limp. A warm throat rumble — _so that's what it's like to purr. _

_ Poor thing. I — I know the attention isn't sufficient, but the Battle Saints, and —_

_ Purrrrrrrr. _Gazing up at green eyes. Love without definition or partition. Pure animal affection for a provider.

_ Alright. _

The bedsheets were warm, soft, green. The neat notebooks on the nightstands were crisp, bound in Freljordian silk. One copy of _Falin University's Guide to Classical Poetry. _Two black cotton-cased swan-down pillows. Luxurious Shurimanan cotton sheets, a black headboard shaped like two swans.

_I'm glad you're patient with me. _Soft white bandages wound tightly, tenderly around each finger. Scented nicely, like jasmine.

He felt his mouth move. _Of course, Sir. _

He saw the red line on a different pale wrist. The scent washed over him. He struggled. _No. No. Nope. _

But it smelled so _good_. Like a spice shop in heaven. His nostrils flared. Chased quickly by a warm soothing flood of desire. Or hunger. Or — no. Just every sort of desire. Hunger. Thirst. Lust.

A shivery whimper.

It was so impure it made Lucian want to rip his skin off. Tear his eyes out. Dig at his throat until it came apart in ribbons. Writhing. The impurity was going to drive him insane.

_I just want her back but oh gods I don't want it to be like this it can't I'll kill myself I'll kill her _

The last thing he felt was a warm, soothing hand on the back of his neck, kneading it. _Poor thing. _

_Gentleness. Kindness. Reaching out for something and finding it there, goodness everlasting. _

But it wasn't, it couldn't be. It was impure. Not goodness. Not. It was evil. Evil, evil —

* * *

><p>He awoke to being shaken.<p>

A rough frantic whisper. "Lucky you got to shut up now. Serious." Malcolm Graves' rugged face — concern. But also anger. "Shhhhh. You're freakin' the kids out."

_I don't care _he almost snapped.

"Yeah? I do."

He gasped for air. It was too thin. The sky of the bruise-planet wasn't bright colors, but white. "How can you live in Noxus?"

"How can you not shut the fuck up, huh?" One last hard shake. Then Graves dropped him and he fell back.

Above him, tall trees with long branches spread over the sky, their tips fringed with dying leaves. They were tall, so tall he couldn't see the top. Only little lattices of blue. Before him were tall walls, but their top was distinctly a crackled black. And the grass he lay on was gray with ash.

_Evil. Pure evil. _

Caelyn was scratching his ear and blushing. And shaking. Ashamed. Anxious. It was actually a favorite memory of his. "N – n – not that bad, methinks. Or not _that _bad. Didn't realize it was s – s – so —"

"Hey." Graves clapped a broad hand on his skinny shoulders. "Don't worry about what that stupid bastard thinks. We're just here to help him."

They paused.

A low tremor ran through the ground, deep in their knees and spines. Caelyn shivered. Erinae bit her lip.

Graves shot Lucian a nasty look and dragged him to his feet.

"Come on, Lucky. Before that luck runs out."

_Close your eyes, baby._

Weird how he always did.

Right after Senna's soul got sucked into the Warden's lantern, the first thing he did was close his eyes hard. Then open them. The Warden was still laughing. Fleshy tendrils with barbed, rusted hooks lashed out at her — lashed around her arms and legs and ankles and wrists. He heard a sickening _cr-crunch _as the bones broke. Then saw her skin split like cheap plastic, the blood pouring out into the wet dark-black earth.

_Close your eyes…_

_ I can't anymore._

The bruise-world deepened his suspicion. _I fucked up. _The broken angel statue greeting them past the burned walls was hideously ironic. The shattered wings were scattered in white fragments across the road. He looked up — the tallest golden tower was snatched in half, the gold warped and jagged.

This was heaven, once. Once, before the gods were undone.

He glared at Caelyn, who froze with a shiver.

Another low rumble beneath their feet. The loose glass tinkled in messy window frames.

Malcolm graves waved them forward, down the web of white stone roads. As they walked — their footsteps too loud for this world — Graves scratched a note: _can you feel her? _

"In this godsforsaken place? My Senna? Ha. Please."

Graves' fist clenched around the pages.

Caelyn shivered. "I – I – it's harder to be back here than I thought. I was so lonely. Cold. C – cold. Cold."

_It is alright. He Is waiting for you, _Graves wrote but Lucian snatched the page away.

A low boom beneath the crust of the earth. Erinae trembled. _Hey. Fuckboy. It's okay. _

_ Why does everyone think I'm ugly? _

_ Caelyn. _

Lucian looked at the fallen towers, fallen churches. _She can't be here. _The wind — he thought it was gone — began to pick up again. _She can't be. She can't. _

They moved towards the large golden palace at the city's center. More headless angel statues. Piles of scorched bones. Wasn't hard to guess who did that.

Cold hate, like the fog. Fog in Senna's eyes. All those people — those deaths — and Caelyn lived. Evil lived while goodness died. His heart cried out. His thoughts made no sense, but neither did the hot sweat dripping into his eyes.

_All I lived for is ruined. All of it. Why should the goodness of others not be? _The blank silence of the sky agreed with him. _I can still do right. Still save people. _

A long, slow rumble of the earth. _Vrrrrrr. _

Caelyn froze. Quivered. Shallow breaths.

_It's so cold._

_ Caelyn. _Erinae was getting nervous too.

He didn't hear her.

Then his scarred hand was clutching for the black handle of his sword. For safety. Sir had held the handle, blessed it before every mission. _The shaking always stops. _The white sky, the broken buildings. The emptiness. The years in the dark — never mind. Sir was there now. The scars on his fingers brushed the hilt and warmth rushed into his chest. _Ahhh._

_ She would want me to kill him, _Lucian thought. The words were high and distant. The thought broke through the anger, the cold. A long slant of white sunlight. Warm.

He had run — run from the Legion, from his wife — but the time for running was over. He could save people.

Save purity itself.

_What I lived for. _

He raised his gun. Her gun — his now.

The demonic freckles, ugly colorless eyes, bony foxy face — he'd turn them to blood. Good would triumph. Then he'd pick Erinae up from beneath the armpits and help purify her. She could still be saved, no matter what Ultimate Goodness said.

The bolt through the dead heaven was near-silent. _Fwip._

Caelyn began to turn, eyes wide.

_Boom._

Erinae squealed and hid in Graves' cloak. And Graves pulled her close with a swear.

Lucian blinked. They all did.

Smoke had arisen from the stone road. He squinted through it.

Caelyn was unharmed. His nasty scarred hand clutched at his throat. His eyes were wide with hurt. "D – d – don't!"

Lucian's finger inched towards the trigger again.

"Don't make me leave him! Don't make m – m – me stay here! I can't! I c – can't!" _My nightmare. My worst nightmare. _

The gray stones rippled beneath their feet. Buildings fell with sounds like waterfalls. Cracking. Dust.

Lucian's finger tightened again. _Fwip._

Another one: _boom. _Then more fog.

Lucian coughed, hacked, then glanced at Graves. The Outlaw was holding Erinae tight. He had his eyes closed, face turned towards the sun. At peace with his fate.

_That's what I always wanted, _Lucky thought blankly. _It's all alright. _He raised his gun once more. Caelyn held his hands up, thin chest heaving, thinking _no no no he'll die I'll fail him. _

"_Please_."

_Fwip. _

The earth rattled.

_Boom. _Fog.

Then, at last, a voice:

"You haven't learned a single fucking thing. Not a single fucking thing."

And there she stood on the marble palace steps, in a torn blue dress colored like the ocean, braids gathered in a ponytail, gun raised to her shoulder. Some modified shotgun. She'd shot Lucian's bolts out of the air — she had eyes of a hawk, legs like a storm-goddess.

_The Fifth Time She Saved His Life: _

Caelyn sank to his knees, whimpering. Shivering. The black pressing in. The cold — Erinae's kisses and whispers fled. So did Sir's. _Trying to help. Try to be good. Not good. Not good for him. _The world heaved and groaned beneath them.

"Shit," Erin hissed. She tried to run to him, but tripped on a sudden swell of stone and went down with a gasp. Graves followed her, falling to his hands and knees. Prostrate.

Senna swept down the trembling stairs. Warm brown eyes blazing. Arms still strong and perfect, face untouched by death and time. Still holy. Still beautiful.

And as Lucian watched, she gathered the demon-pyromancer-corrupted werefox boy into her arms. He shuddered — a sound of stone breaking.

But Lucian could still hear her, over all the dying noise. His gun slowly sank to his side.

Her voice was the same.

"It's alright. Shhh. It's alright."

Lucian's jaw dropped. Caelyn shuddered, whimpered.

Senna pressed her lips to Caelyn's forehead. "Shhhh. It's alright. Close your eyes. Both of you."

The fifth time she saved Lucian's life, she tilted the Abomination's face up and planted a warm full kiss on his lips.

A long pause. More buildings fell. So did Lucian, to the stones, and felt them drive in deep. A heave in the earth — a few of his bones broke. A high snapping pain.

It couldn't compete with the relief he felt. She had said it. She was beautiful, she was there, and she'd said it: _It's alright. _

Then Caelyn shivered and looked to him from Senna's arms. "S – s – she's —"

"Yeah?"

"She's _so _pretty," he gasped, then fainted.

The trembling came to a halt.

The last Lucian saw was Graves clutching Erinae to his chest. Caelyn laying on top of all three of them, purring.

It began to fade, but he saw. The clear, pure, wild night-sky in Senna's eyes, the blood on her hands as she tended to his knees. Shaking her head. Clucking her tongue.

_By night, by blood — that's how you learn what purity truly is. By seeing its opposite. Shifting your gaze. _


	12. Epilogue: Alright

_N.B. I'll be seein' you all. Love you. _

_- vO _

_Oh. **WAIT**. If you're following this story, you'll get **immediate notification when I drop my OC book. I can't wait to share it with you. **_

* * *

><p>"You seem upset, love."<p>

Caelyn looked down at his hands.

Sir was filling out temporary citizenship for Lucian and his wife. Soraka was already working on healing potions. Senna was fine, with eyes rich and dark, skin smooth as brown velvet. But she was suffering from chronic dehydration. Her liver and kidneys were damaged. She had osteoporosis, various vitamin deficiencies.

She'd slapped her husband in front of King Ryland II, Demetrius, Ezreal, and various others. Four times. Hard.

_Don't listen to my godsdamned idiot husband. We are staying for at least four weeks and will do everything in our limited power to thank you. _

Lucian was grinning stupidly — a grin that had to be answered by everyone. Even Erinae and Graves, who had officially decided _Lucky's off the acquaintance list forever. Sayonara, Luck-Ass. _

"Sho — shot at me."

"Hmmm?" Demetrius looked up with warm green eyes. The rain was heavier now, the bright blue roses climbing the castle walls bobbing in the breeze.

"S – s – shot at me." Caelyn tried to breathe. It ached. Hurt.

"Poor child." Demetrius draped an arm around his thin shoulders. He wasn't surprised, and knew anger was useless.

Caelyn choked. "I try to do good. I do."

Demetrius pulled him nearer. His own chest ached for him. But the pain was far away. Chased off by Caelyn's presence. "I know you do."

Caelyn snorted. "As a young D – Dove I tried my hardest and they called me ugly."

"I know, dearheart." Demetrius pulled him nearer and scratched beneath his chin.

"And I killed all the Demacians and they still — they still hurt me." He felt the warm fingers on his throat and leaned into them. Closed his eyes. _Doesn't matter. _The heaviness in his heart was vanishing, like fog lifting at sunrise.

"I know." Demetrius kissed his temple, then ear, then cheek, then pulled him onto his lap and held him against his chest. And repeated the old mantra: "It will be alright. I promise."

* * *

><p>They glared at one another until another rainy night fell. Then they fell into quiet sleep. Erinae curled up as a golden tabby cat on his lap.<p>

And in their dreams, they met on a sweeping lightwood arch above a starry pond. Soft white lilies, warm white paper lanterns.

He looked down at her, her white skirt playing along his calves. Her bare shoulders looked luscious.

He cleared his throat. "I realized something."

She didn't look at him. "Good, stupid. We all almost died. Again."

"We can be our own people. We don't have to be exactly like them, and we'll still be okay."

"And how long has Daddy been telling you that?"

Jayce blushed and leaned on the bridge's elegant railing. "A while now."

A long pause. They listened to frogs croak. _Whirrwhirrwhirrwhirr. _

"So I don't have to marry you?"

The relief in her voice made Jayce's heart catch. "No. You don't. And it's okay."

"Thank gods," Erinae sighed, then stood on her tiptoes, waited for him to bend down, and kissed him on the lips.

* * *

><p>Aven leaned on King Ryland II beneath the silver myth-tree. The white fawn stretched out across both of them, delicate and soft. Ryland watched Aven's green eyes flutter closed. Felt his breathing and heartbeat. And sighed.<p>

Aven nuzzled him. "S'all almost fixed."

"The Wheel?"

"Aye. It'll be grand. Grander than the first journey."

"I don't know how that's possible," Ryland said, and the wavering myth-tree branches agreed with him. He cast out with his mind and found Ezreal, Luxanna and their son talking. Everett had his Dove pin on still, but Ezreal and Luxanna didn't mind. Their son was nicer than before, more emotional and smiling. And he finally called Ezreal _dad _instead of _Ezreal_.

"It be true, Ryland." The Lightbringer smiled.

"I believe you. Ta – aikah."

* * *

><p>He lost count of how many times she saved his life. With every little movement, with every small smile and big dark frown. The latter — the frowns — were slowly decreasing. Slowly.<p>

In their bedroom in the Noxian castle, she greeted the sun by standing on her tiptoes and reaching towards it, towards the light.

But she greeted the moon, too, by leaning on their balcony-porch's railing and looking out. Breathing deep. She greeted both.

On one such rainy night, he grabbed her 'round the waist and kissed her neck.

She snorted. "Go on. Say it."

"You want me to?" His face began to itch and burn, but in a pleasant way. In a _your-life-is-saved _kind of way. In a _purity-is-within-reach _way.

"Only been waiting for years and years. Come on, prayer-boy."

He took a deep breath. "It's alright."

"Mmm." She looked up. The moon, scattered across the clouds, shone in her eyes. "It is. It's alright."


End file.
